Broken
by r4ven3
Summary: Harry receives an email which blows open his whole sense of what has happened. Set post S.10, in an AU world, with several other members of MI-5 (but keeping it secret until they appear). This fic even has a plot (!) and is told in 12 chapters.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:**** I have to confess that I have never been to Peru, and I know almost nothing about it – other than what I have gleaned from Google searches, and my niece's trip to Machu Picchu over ten years ago. Most of what I write about Peru is made up.**_

* * *

"_We are all broken in some way. But it's all the shattered pieces that give us depth. Like stained glass, it's how the pieces and colors fit together that truly makes us beautiful." _

- Adriana Law: "Falling for a Bentley"

* * *

The main bedroom in a small two up, two down in Bristol, UK – mid November 1962:

A small boy with dark brown hair sits beside the bed on which his mother has been lying for over a day now. Her face is white, and her eyes stare ahead of her, cloudy and unseeing. The boy knows what death is. He's seen death – cats, rats, dogs, and now people. Death is the place where life ends, but strangely, it doesn't frighten him. He knows what happens now. He knows that if he leaves her, his mother will rot away, leaving nothing but her hair and her bones, like the cats that have run on to the road, and been squashed under the tyres of cars. Death fascinates him – perhaps too much for a child of only six years.

The men still come to the door, knocking, calling out her name. _Connie_, they say, _Connie, open up …. it's Sid _(or Walter or Jim). Then they go away. She has always told him to never answer the door. You never know who it might be. His mother was most afraid of a person named The Bailiff. _You mustn't let The Bailiff in_, she'd say. The boy doesn't know The Bailiff, so he'll let no-one into the house, just in case.

He doesn't know what to do next. He would like to believe that his father might visit, but he can only remember this tall, severe man with dark brown hair and a long nose – called Nicky by his mother. His father had only visited him maybe once or twice. The boy had felt his father's eyes on him – small, critical eyes – and then he'd commented on how skinny were his arms and legs, his voice deep and strange sounding. Once, he'd patted the boy on his head, the beginnings of a smile on his lips, but the smile had been for his mother, and not for him. He didn't matter. Only adults mattered. The boy can't wait until he is an adult, and then he'll show them who matters.

No, it is unlikely his father will come to get him, so without his father to save him, and his mother to send him off to school, the boy goes downstairs and turns on the TV. When he gets cold, he runs back upstairs, and takes the blanket which covers his mother. She'll not be needing it.

It is later in the day that the men begin knocking again. He ignores them, until much later there is a woman at the door. He knows her voice. It is Mrs Channing, from his school. What can she want?

The boy opens the door to her, and it is then that his life changes.

* * *

80 km east of Lima, Peru – early September, 2012; 3:12 pm:

The bus driver changes to a lower gear, causing the engine to whine, as the tourist bus labours up a steep incline into the mountains.

"It shouldn't be long now," one of the English women says to her female companion. "Juan Carlos said he'd meet us at the Montana Desnuda bar in San Pedro de Casta. I hope he keeps his word."

"You mean, he may not?" her companion says, concern showing in her eyes.

"He's not the most reliable of men." The first woman smiles to herself, as if holding some private memory close to herself.

"But, you'll forgive him that, because …..."

"Because he's without doubt the best lay I've ever had."

Her companion's face registers shock, but only for a brief moment. The bus has reached a plateau, and before them stretches the long drive into San Pedro de Casta, a village which nestles against the stark, bare mountains of the Andes, themselves like monuments to a time which dates back long before the Incas. Both women stare in awe at the bare brown mountains which surround them.

"I couldn't help but overhear you."

Both women turn to see another English woman, younger than them both, her blond hair cut in a bob, her elfin face pretty and unblemished. "I hope you don't mind me interrupting you," the young woman continues, leaning across the aisle, which is cluttered with people's hand luggage. "I'm Cate. I'm from London. Well ….. I'm from everywhere, really. My husband is currently in Mexico, but I'm originally from London."

"I'm Kerry," the first woman says, the more outgoing of the two.

"And I'm Rachel," says the quieter of the two, a few years older than Kerry. Cate notices that this woman – Rachel – has large blue eyes …... unforgettable eyes, sad, wise eyes which stare at her... through her, into her.

"I'm looking for a lift into Marcahuasi, and I heard you mentioning a man who is meeting you."

"If you don't mind walking all the way, then you're welcome to join us," replies Kerry, her grey eyes staring at Cate, as though she's trying to remember where it is she's seen her before.

* * *

London – 11pm – the same day:

Harry Pearce feels bad. Nestled amid his sadness and long-standing grief over Ruth's passing, feeling bad is something he can do without, although he has only himself to blame. Guiding his car through the night towards his own house, he decides that the sex is not worth it. He is a man who still enjoys sex, although each time he's had sex with Lydia, he'd ended up feeling as though he is being unfaithful to Ruth. It seems that even meaningless sex means something to him, although it seems it cannot heal the wound which Ruth's death has left him nursing.

He'd met Lydia only two months earlier at a dinner for security services personnel. She is widowed, and he'd told her he is also, which is as close to the truth as he's prepared to share with her. She's in her mid 50's, and so closer to his age than Ruth had been. They should have a lot in common, but in the end, all she'd been looking for was sex, and that has been the limit of what he can share with her. They have only had sex three or maybe four times, and each time, he gets out of bed almost immediately afterwards, and then goes home to sleep in his own bed... where he falls asleep, imagining that the fatigue in his body is as a result of him having just made love to Ruth.

He knows he'll not see Lydia again. Sex which makes him feel bad is far worse than no sex at all. At least, when Ruth was alive, he'd believed that there was always the promise of something about to happen between them.

He has promised himself that one day – perhaps one day quite soon – he will make a genuine effort to move on. He will retire from the service, maybe travel, open his heart to meeting someone new, someone with whom he is prepared to share his life. For now, he cannot even contemplate that possibility. It has only been eleven months since Ruth's death, and his heart is still broken. _He_ is still broken. For now, he'll just have to bury himself deeper inside his work. At least that is a familiar hiding place for him.

San Pedro de Casta, Peru – 9:30pm, the same day:

The four of them – Kerry, Rachel, Cate and Juan Carlos – are sitting on a wooden plank suspended between two piles of bricks, warming their hands by the fire which burns in an old tin can in the back yard of the tourist hostel – little more than a hut. The four of them are sharing a room, something which Rachel knows could be awkward, given Kerry's and Juan Carlos' attraction for one another.

"Maybe you two would like to retire first," Rachel says quietly to her friend. "I don't expect you and Juan Carlos to keep away from one another, and I don't fancy listening while you become reacquainted."

"Thanks. I can last until we get a tent to ourselves, but I'm not sure about Juan Carlos."

"I heard my name," Juan Carlos says in his Spanish accent (which Kerry has found so compelling). "What is it?"

"We can turn in first, and then Rachel and Cate will join us. How long should we say, Juan Carlos?"

"Oh …... at least an hour."

"Be serious," Kerry says, smiling broadly at him, her teeth as white as his.

"Alright. Half an hour."

"Just build up the fire a bit before you go, then," Rachel suggests, and Juan Carlos gets up, and grabs some small logs from beside the back door of the hostel, and throws them on the fire, causing sparks to fly skywards. Rachel can see the attraction this man has for her friend, as she examines his handsome profile against the glow from the fire.

Once Kerry and Juan Carlos leave to go inside, Rachel watches the sparks rising, and sees the stars above her in the clear night sky. She thinks of someone else who is probably asleep by now, or maybe has had a busy night at work, and is spending all night in his office.

"You're a long way away," says Cate, her voice quiet. Now that Kerry and Juan Carlos have gone inside, the night seems quieter, calmer.

"Yes," replies Rachel. "I miss home."

"I take it you mean England."

"Yes."

"I notice you're wearing a wedding ring. Is your husband back there?"

"No. He's dead."

Rachel doesn't wish to speak about her husband to this young woman whom she barely knows. The man she likes to think of as her husband is not dead at all, but to her, he may as well be. She cannot go back. Perhaps ever.

"I'm sorry," says Cate. "I didn't wish to pry. I've only been married three months, but Mark and I have spent almost all of that time apart. It's hard not seeing him, but at least I know I'll see him again."

Rachel opts to remain silent. Were she to talk any more, she would most likely begin crying, and during the past eleven months, she has shed tears enough to fill an ocean.

* * *

Marcahuasi, Peru - 2 days later:

"That's a natural structure?" Kerry says, staring at the outcrop of rock ahead of them.

"Of course. The gods made it, long before the Incas came." Juan Carlos has become their tour guide, although Rachel is not so sure that his knowledge of the history of the Monument To Mankind, and the other Marcahuasi rock formations goes beyond oral traditions and superstition.

Rachel is tired from their walk, and she is resting on a small outcrop of rock, her backpack on the ground beside her. To her immediate right, Juan Carlos and Kerry are arguing about the probability of the rock formation – on which can be seen distinct human face formations – being natural.

"I'll bet your ancestors crept up here at night, and carved the whole thing while no-one was watching."

"Kerry," said Juan Carlos, "my father will not like you …... to say that."

"I've never even met your father. For all I know, you may not even have a father."

The couple begin kissing, which is something Rachel has noticed they do whenever they have nothing more to say. She is envious of them, and irritated by them at the same time. _That should be me,_ she thinks, but she will never say that, even to Kerry, whom she is getting to know even better than she'd known her in London all those years ago.

In the distance, Rachel notices Cate photographing the rock from many different angles. Cate has told them she's a documentary film maker, and is researching Marcahuasi as a possible documentary subject.

"Everyone knows about Machu Picchu," Cate had explained, "but this place is less well known, and just as remarkable. My main area of interest is the people, and how, even living as they do, they manage to protect this place from exploitation and vandalism. I've promised my husband and my parents that from now on I'll steer clear of war zones."

Two days later, they are pleased to again enter San Pedro de Casta, where they can spend a night on a camp bed before they head back to Lima with Juan Carlos.

Kerry will be relieved to again have Juan Carlos to herself.

Rachel will be happy to get back to her laptop, and her work for the translation agency in Lima.

Cate will be flying to Mexico to join her husband …... but not before she emails some of the photos of the Marcahuasi rock formations to her husband, as well as her parents and younger brother in England.

* * *

Harry's office – The Grid – 24 hours later:

Harry is preparing to go home for the day, when he notices the icon on his desktop computer, announcing a new email in his personal email account. Normally he'd wait until he gets home to read it, but it could be important, so he opens it. It is a newsy update from Catherine, with a suggestion he checks out her latest photographs. He opens the links to the photographs, taking him to her Flickr page. He clicks through them quickly, until he finds one with people in it. What he sees has his heart beating faster, and his eyes widening. He clicks on the photograph to enlarge it, and then he's sure. What he sees is impossible, but the proof is in the photograph which takes up most of his monitor's 23 inch screen.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: **__****__**Swear word alert. **_

_**Thanks to all who have shown an interest in this. As I've said with other fics of mine, the plot makes sense in my head, but I can't guarantee it will in yours. I just need to remind readers that the first section of Ch 1 (set in 1962) is significant, and not just some random filler. All will be revealled in later chapters.**_

* * *

Harry's office – the Grid (continued):

Fifteen minutes later, Erin Watts notices that Harry has been sitting in the same position for some time, staring blankly at his monitor. Feeling concern for him, she enters his office quietly, and moves to stand beside him. He looks up at her, and she can see that his face is pale.

"Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" he says, his voice very quiet.

Erin looks at the large photograph on the monitor, and gasps at what she sees.

"How is that even possible?" Erin's complexion has become as pale as Harry's. "Did you know about this?"

Harry shakes his head as he stares at the photograph. He doesn't even notice the tears rolling down his cheeks.

There is an unspoken question which Harry immediately answers.

"My daughter sent these. If you look closely, you can see they are date-stamped the day before yesterday. She's been in Peru, checking out some of the natural sites. Her husband is a photographer, and she's a documentary film maker. That rock outcrop," he adds, pointing to the rock in the foreground, "is called the Monument To Mankind, as is said to have formed naturally in this way. As you walk around it, facial features appear in the rock face. It's said that everyone who looks at it sees something different, although how can we know that?" Harry hesitates before he continues, his voice a monotone. "That is definitely Ruth in the background, sitting down with a backpack at her feet. As if that isn't remarkable enough, the woman with her arms around the man is Zoe Reynolds. She worked here until late in 2004, when she -"

"- had to go to Chile."

"Yes, and later, her partner, Will North followed her there. Obviously, he's no longer in the picture."

"Or she's on a break," Erin quipped.

Harry grimaces, and Erin pulls away from Harry, giving him some space.

"What is so remarkable about this – apart from Ruth being alive – is that she is with Zoe and my daughter. Catherine mentions in her email that the three of them are travelling together."

"What do you want to do about this, Harry?"

"Do? I don't know. I'll have to give it some serious thought overnight. I can only imagine that …... I don't know, really. I'm open to suggestions …... if you have any."

Erin steps back, and spends a moment in quiet thought. "Harry …... can I share this information with Calum? If there's to be any action taken – like someone going to Peru to look for Ruth – then he'll want to be involved. I might also need to contact Dimitri Levendis. Last I heard, he was in Panama, which is not all that far away."

"I thought he was in the Middle East."

"He's monitoring some suspected terrorist activity in Ecuador and Panama."

Harry waits while Erin considers how much she should share with her boss.

"I worry for him," Erin says. "Ever since he and I broke up, he's been …..."

"Unhinged?"

"Taking risks."

"Dimitri is a man who has always taken risks. It's part of his nature. Hell, Erin, you take risks as well. It's what we do." Harry sits back in his chair, but his eyes are still on the image on the screen.

"Can I share this information with Calum and Dimitri, Harry?"

Harry sighs heavily, and Erin notices how tired he looks. She suspects that in the last eleven months since Ruth had been pronounced dead, he has slept little. Ruth has been a topic which is out of bounds with Harry, and so she is feeling relieved to be able to use the other woman's name in his presence.

"I'll let you know after I've slept on it. For all I know, Ruth may not want to be found."

"If you give the go-ahead, I'll have to bring George into it. He'll be able to do a lot of the leg work from here."

George Fairbrother. Ruth's replacement. He had been the third analyst Harry had tried after Ruth's death, and as much as he may have wanted to, he can't fault him. George is a public school boy who entered Oxford University on a scholarship at the age of sixteen. He's brilliant – like Ruth was ... is – and he works quickly – also like Ruth. He is also on probation, and Harry would love to find a reason to let him go, but he has come to depend upon him.

"If I decide to look for her," Harry says quietly, "George will definitely have to be in the loop."

"It's fortunate that things are quiet at present, then," says Erin.

"And I hope they remain that way," Harry replies.

Section D have had an easy time of it since the Olympics ended, and Harry is relieved about this. It has allowed for him to go home earlier, attempting to catch up on much-needed sleep. The problem is that he spends most of each night lying awake, thinking of Ruth, wishing he had acted differently. The only times he has been able to fall asleep has been after he has had sex with Lydia, and now he has decided that he will not see her again, thus exposing himself to more nights with little sleep.

After Erin leaves his office, he sits back in his chair, and looks through all the photos of Peru which Catherine had sent. Ruth and Zoe are in three of them, and so he flips between the three photos, drinking in the face he has missed so much. She looks wonderful …... healthy, tanned, slim, perhaps too slim. He had always appreciated her curves. He'd watch her walking across the Grid, trying to determine the shape of her body beneath her clothing. In the photographs from Peru, Ruth is wearing jeans and a rather tight-fitting shirt. He wishes he were there with her.

* * *

When Harry arrives home, his first stop is his office, where he powers up his computer, and opens Catherine's email, and then prints off the three photographs featuring Ruth. He has no idea what to do about this. Not recognising that he is still in shock, he forgets to eat dinner, and goes to bed.

At 3 am he wakes, hungry and mentally confused. There is only one thought in his mind. Why, after having asked him to share her life, did she fake her death and disappear from Britain, and from his life?

That is the question, and the more he thinks about it, the angrier he becomes. He had believed he and Ruth were close. They were close friends, and they were about to be even closer …... perhaps lovers. And yet, she'd deceived him.

_Hang on, Harry, how can you use a loaded word like `deceived', when you have no idea what has happened?_

He heads to the kitchen to make himself a sandwich, and once he has eaten, he heads back to bed. He is sure his head had only just touched the pillow when his alarm sounds, and it is time for him to get up, shower, and dress for another day on the Grid. He knows without even giving it clear thought that he is about to share his news with Calum, and perhaps Dimitri... definitely George Fairbrother, who has never met Ruth, and so will not know just how important this is to him.

* * *

A second floor flat – Lima, Peru – 2 days later:

Rachel is about to finish her translating for the day, when she hears a quick rap on her door.

"It's me." Kerry's voice, so she lets her in, and leads her to the small kitchenette, where she is about to make a cup of tea.

"So, he's let you out of bed, I see," Rachel says, a smirk on her face.

"Yes, well, we can't do it all day and night. Anyway, Ruth, you're just jealous."

"We agreed not to use our names. We don't know if …..."

"Oh, I am _so over_ all that spy crap. You still haven't told me why you're here, when you already said you didn't want to leave London. I don't get it, and I'm going to call you Ruth when we're alone."

"I'd rather you didn't, Kerry."

"For fuck's sake, _why_?"

"Firstly, you have no idea if Will is looking for you, and what he'll do when and if he finds you. You said yourself you don't trust him, and neither do I. He drinks, Kerry. A man with a drinking problem is not reliable or predictable."

"I know that." The younger woman's face looks pained, worried, and she breaks eye contact by looking through the window towards the jumble of rooftops.

"And the people behind me being here, so far away from home, would kill me in a moment if they thought I was here with another former agent. We're taking a great risk every time we meet."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right."

"The fact is …..." Rachel lowers her voice, as if she believes someone may be listening in to their conversation, "I've asked my employer to find me somewhere else to live. Just for a while. Central Lima isn't the safest of places, you know."

"Harry would know what to do."

Rachel's very blue eyes become even larger. "Why do you say that?"

"He's Harry, isn't he? He can do anything. Big boss man."

"Not always," Rachel says quietly, almost to herself.

"I just remembered something. Just last night I was thinking about that woman, Cate …... you know, the young woman we met on the bus."

"Cate? What about her?"

"Did you ever meet Harry's daughter?"

"No," Rachel says carefully, slowly. "Why do you ask?"

"Cate Clifford. That's her married name, but I'm sure that she's Catherine, Harry's daughter. I didn't meet her, but I saw her photograph. Ruth? What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Why would Harry's daughter hook up with the two of us unless she knew who we were?"

"It's called coincidence, Ruth."

"I simply can't believe in a coincidence that huge, Zoe."

"Haha – knew you'd weaken eventually!"

"Oh _no_ …..." Rachel/Ruth looks pale, and puts her hand over her mouth.

"What now?"

"Can you remember her saying she was about to email those photographs from Marcahuasi to her husband, brother, and her _parents_? If Harry's her father, she'll have sent one to him, and then -"

"What? Why are you so afraid of Harry?"

"I'm not. I'm afraid of what he'll do without knowing how dangerous it may be."

"There's something you're not telling me, isn't there?"

Ruth nods slowly. "If he comes looking for me – and he will – he could put us both in great danger."

"You and me?"

"I was thinking more of he and me, but perhaps you also."

Kerry/Zoe's eyes widen, as if she's seeing something for the first time. "You and Harry, right? You were …... together? _Wow_!"

"I asked him to leave the service and live with me."

"_Jesus_! What did he say to that?"

"He said yes. And then everything went pear-shaped, and I had to leave."

"Bloody hell. I'm still stuck at you and Harry. Bloody brilliant. No wonder Juan Carlos and I get under your skin. You're itching for Harry. Bloody hell!"

Ruth makes a face which shows she has shared the information with much reluctance, and now perhaps wishes she hadn't. "Just keep that to yourself, Zoe. No-one must know. _No-one_, okay?"

"Who am I going to tell? Juan Carlos? I don't fully trust him, so I tell him nothing."

"All the same. Don't tell a soul. I'm going to ring Gabriela. She has a beach house further up the coast, and she offered it to me, but I chose to stay here because it's central."

Ruth rises from the table and picks up her phone. Her call to Gabriela is brief – in Portuguese - and she seems satisfied when she closes her phone. She stands beside the table, clearly deep in thought.

"I'm leaving tonight, Kerry. I'll be leaving a lot of my things here, so you can crash here when Juan Carlos gets tired of you, or you of him. I'll leave you with a spare key. Even if you don't sleep here, could you drop in every few days to make sure it's not been invaded by cockroaches?"

Kerry/Zoe nods, still more than slightly bewildered by her friend's revelations. There's something going on, and she's curious. Besides, Ruth's flat is lighter and airier and bigger than her own. She just might move in.

.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: More bad language, I'm afraid.**_

* * *

Kerry's/Zoe's flat, Lima, Peru – 3 days later – late evening:

"_¡__Bueno!_" the young man says, and then listens carefully, holding his phone close to his ear. "No, she's not here. She …... she choose to stay in other flat. …... no …... Rachel gone. No …... Kerry not know."

Juan Carlos rubs his free hand across his forehead. This job is becoming tricky. For a start, he can't let his boss know how well he can speak English, and then there's Kerry. He quite likes her …... no, he r_eally_ likes her, as in …... maybe he loves her. The man who makes the demands is not satisfied with his work, and that makes Juan Carlos nervous. He has been a honeytrap for the English woman, and he has made the cardinal mistake of falling for her. Still, he is only an asset, and not a spy. His skills are limited to sweet-talking women, and then convincing them to go to bed with him. He finds that part easy. It's the keeping-track-of-the-target he finds difficult. How can he watch Rachel when his head is filled with lust for Kerry? _Imposible _…... impossible.

"No," he says to the man's constant questioning, until the Englishman explodes in his ear with a rattle of foul language.

"Find her," the man shouts. "I need to know where she is. Goodbye."

"_Despidida,_" Juan Carlos says quietly into the phone. _el inglés_ - the Englishman - had already cut the connection.

Juan Carlos suspects he is in some serious shit. _Puta mierda._ Fucking shit.

* * *

Thames House, London – 12 hours later – early evening:

Harry is tired …... still. He's barely slept since he'd opened the email from Catherine. He'd even rung her to speak to her, but had learned very little from speaking with her.

"I had no idea that they know you, Dad. I told them my married name, and they told me that their names were Kerry Sutton and Rachel Diaz."

"They're using legends, Catherine."

"Whatever. Had I known who they were, I would have paid more attention, but I got the impression that Rachel – the older one – was living in Lima somewhere."

"In a city of 8 million, that's hardly giving anything away."

"I know. I'm sorry, Dad. I'm usually one to pay attention to details. Look, I have to go. Mark is calling me for lunch."

And that had been all she was able to tell him. He hadn't wanted to push her about details to do with Ruth. He hadn't wanted to alert Catherine to the truth. He'd already told her that he lost someone last year, and that's about all she knows. As Harry sees it, she has little need for details. He is a private man, after all.

Suddenly there is a rap on his office door. Harry looks up to see the very young and fresh face of George Fairbrother, a thick folder in his hands.

"I have something, Harry. I think we're now getting somewhere."

Harry indicates the chair opposite him, and George sits, opening his folder in front of him.

"It was hacking into Peru Immigration Office website which led me to the back door of their immigration records. I don't know what these website builders are thinking. It was much easier than I expected. Here is Rachel Diaz's details." George pushes a document towards Harry so that he can read it. "She applied for a work visa four months ago. She'll have to have that extended if she wishes to remain any longer than six months. That can only be done by her employer, and …... her employer is Gabriela Maria Lopez, and she runs a translating agency, and most of her clients are business people with financial interests in other parts of the world. Rachel Diaz specialises in translating Mandarin to Portuguese. These are chiefly legal documents, so a skilled translator is needed to do this work. China and Peru signed a Free Trade Agreement which came into effect in March 2010, so Ms Diaz has plenty of work."

Harry's eyes scan the two documents George shows him, one about Rachel, and the other about her employer.

"And there's an address for Ms Diaz?"

"Yes. It's a flat in central Lima."

"And Kerry Sutton?"

"She was harder to trace. It's likely she entered the country illegally. Many people do, but usually only for short-term visits. It's also possible that she entered the country under one identity, and is using another while in Peru. There's been no Gina Hamilton enter Peru in the past 12 months, but if she's trying to get away from Will North, then that's hardly surprising; she'll be unlikely to use that identity again. There is another one-bedroom flat leased to a Ms Kerry Sutton. It's only a few blocks from the one where the other woman lives. I think it's likely that it's the person you're searching for."

Harry holds the third sheet of paper in his hands. He is aware that his hands are shaking, so he puts the paper down, and rests both hands on it.

"Thank you, George. That's excellent work, as usual. Can you send in Erin? I need to speak with her immediately."

As George gathers his folder and leaves, Harry notices how pleased he looks to have received his boss's praise. Harry knows he doesn't praise his team members nearly enough.

"You wanted to see me, Harry," Erin says as she enters Harry's office.

"Yes. I need you to hold the fort for me. I'm about to book a flight to Lima."

"Harry -"

"What?" His eyes are flinty, steely, and he has set his mouth hard, as Erin knows he does when he doesn't wish to be opposed or even questioned.

"Do you think that wise?"

"No, it isn't, but nothing about this whole situation is wise, Erin. I need to see her. I need to know ..."

Erin sits down in the seat recently vacated by George. "I understand that completely, Harry. I was there when Ruth …... er, died. I know how you feel about her. I also …... overheard part of your last conversation with her. Can you at least wait until I contact Dimitri? I've been trying to ring him these past two days, and his phone keeps going to voicemail."

"What if he doesn't return your call for another month? I don't know if I can wait that long."

Erin sits back in her chair, and thinks for a moment. "Alright. Catch the next flight to Lima, but wait until I've spoken with Dimitri before you make contact with Ruth. Will you at least agree to that?"

Harry nods, clearly reluctant to allow anything at all to interfere with his seeing Ruth as soon as possible.

"You have to admit, Harry, that there must have been very good reasons for Ruth disappearing like that."

Harry nods again. "Has any progress been made there?"

"None at all, I'm afraid. George is still working on that, and Tariq too. The two of them together are usually such a good team. I should be suggesting that you make no move at all until we know why she disappeared, but I know you'd not pay attention were I to insist."

"I'm not a fool, Erin. I know that there's likely to be an element of danger in this operation. I just want to make contact with her, then …..."

"Then what?"

"I'm not sure."

Erin is aware that Harry's emotional response is overriding his generally sharp intellect, but she hasn't it in her to demand that he stay at home while other, younger and fitter, agents do the work on the ground. She has watched him from afar these past eleven months, and she now sees the spark of hope which shines in his eyes. As much as she feels it's unwise, she simply can't deny him his wish to see Ruth as soon as possible. To do so would be akin to asking her daughter, Rosie, to wait until New Years Day to open her Christmas presents. She cannot do it.

* * *

Rachel's/Ruth's flat, Lima, Peru – 3 days later – evening:

Kerry/Zoe is enjoying a few days away from Juan Carlos. He'd mentioned something about needing to visit some relatives in the mountains, and she is relieved to have some space from him. He is becoming clingy and needy, and she's not sure she can continue to see him. He's not allowed to visit her at Ruth's flat, so she only ever sees him back at the flat which she'd rented for three months in her own name.

She has just poured herself a large glass of Peruvian pinot blanc, when there is a knock on the door. She considers ignoring it, when a male voice calls out, and surprisingly, his accent is English.

"Ms Sutton …... it's Dimitri Levendis. I need to speak to you. It's about what happened in London."

Zoe has heard about Dimitri through Ruth, who'd sometimes talked with fondness about the members of the Grid whom she'd left behind in London. She gets up, and puts her eye to the spyhole in the door. She sees a tall, dark-haired man with a pleasant smile. Tall, dark and handsome. What more could a girl want? She opens the door without first putting on the chain.

"Er …..." Dimitri hesitates. "You must be Kerry. Is Rachel here?"

"No, she's not. Do you want to come in?"


	4. Chapter 4

**_A/N: Thank you for the interest, and for reading and reviewing. Those of you who know my writing know that I complete a story before I begin posting. Having said that, I'm still hoping what I have written makes sense to someone other than me._**

* * *

Casa Bella Boutique Hotel – Central Lima – same night:

Harry is nervous. It is not like him to be this nervous, but he hates waiting. He'd much rather be doing something.

Suddenly his phone rings, and he jumps.

"Hello. James Marsden." He has had to have a new legend for this trip, because he has next to no idea of who or what it is behind this.

"James. Good to hear your voice. It's Dimitri."

"Dimitri, I need to talk to you. Can we meet?"

"Tonight?"

"That would be best."

Seaside park in Magdalena del Mar – Lima – an hour later:

Harry immediately spots Dimitri's tall figure, standing on the steps of the open air theatre. He hurries towards him, surprised by how much he's looking forward to seeing his former agent.

"Good to see you," Harry says, grasping Dimitri's hand in both his own.

"And you. I've missed you." Dimitri gives a small laugh at the improbability of that statement. "I have ... really."

Harry finds himself smiling at Dimitri. He likes the way his face feels when he smiles. He then realises how little he's smiled these past eleven months "You have information for me?"

"I have. Let's go down these steps to the floor, just in case anyone is listening to us remotely."

"Do you think that likely?" Harry asks.

"No, I don't, but anything is possible. There are a lot of people in Lima, not all of them residents or tourists."

The two men walk down the terraced steps to the floor of the theatre. Even Dimitri's head would not be visible from ground level.

"I visited our target's flat, and found the other woman there."

"She let you in?"

"She did. I'm guessing she's lonely for English accents."

"So, why did she leave Will?"

Dimitri makes drinking motions with his hand, and Harry nods. "Our lady …... Rachel …... has moved out of the flat. She was worried that you possibly knowing that she is here would bring you running."

"How can she possibly know that I might be here?"

"Apparently, Kerry recognised your daughter …... not while she was here, but after they parted ways. Apparently your daughter told them that she was emailing those photos to you, and …... well, Ruth panicked."

"You've stopped using her legend."

"You know, if anyone - other than us – knows she's here, they'll also know her legend, and chances are they'll know where she lives."

"Have you any idea about why she's here, and not back in London where she's meant to be?"

Dimitri smiles at Harry's earnestness. It's obvious that he still cares about her. "I thought your lot were working on that."

"They are, but so far haven't made much progress. I have to speak to …... to Ruth. Do you know where she is?"

Dimitri answers Harry's question by looking past him while he passes an envelope to him. "That's instructions on how to get to her new place. You'll need to hire a car, so I pre-empted your need, and I hired one over the internet. I'll pick it up in the morning, and deliver it to your hotel, so ….."

"So I'll not be connected to the car."

"Yeah."

Dimitri waits, scuffing the toe of his shoe into the floor. It is a mild night with high humidity, and Dimitri looks as though he belongs in this place, while Harry is definitely the odd man out. There is a light sheen of sweat on his forehead, and he appears uncomfortable with the 87% humidity.

"I'd suggest you ring her first," Dimitri says, "although that's up to you. You know her far better than I do."

Harry looks up at the younger man, searching for a smirk, or a knowing look, but Dimitri's face gives nothing away.

"Thank you, Dimitri. I'll expect you in the morning," and Harry turns, climbs the steps, and heads back to his hotel.

* * *

Cap Cana, Dominican Republic – next morning:

The middle-aged Englishman sits alone on the balcony of his room, gazing out at the clear blue sea through dark shades which hide his eyes. He knows he should be enjoying this, his well-earned retirement, but there are still some stones in his shoe, metaphorically speaking. He has everything he has always dreamed of having – money, wine, whiskey, the very best Cuban cigars, women on tap (almost literally), sun and sand …... not that he cares much for the latter – and yet he is far from fulfilled. His `work', as he sees it, is not yet done.

He blames that numbskull Peruvian boy. The boy – the walking, talking erection – having been hired to follow Miss Reynolds, and then …... then he had hit the jackpot. Two for one, and if Harry Pearce acts according to type, and follows the Evershed woman to Lima, he could easily bag the three of them. He hadn't expected to find Ruth. He had been prepared to let her go. He had been prepared to accept that maybe Little Miss Smart Arse may be a better spy than he's ever been. But no... his hunch about Zoe Reynolds had paid off, and now it is his turn to win the game.

The man sees Harry Pearce as an old piece of chewing gum, dropped on to the pavement, from where it has become attached to the sole of his shoe. His work will not be done until his shoes are clean.

It is only a matter of time, and like his nemesis, he is prepared to wait.

* * *

Beach house, 100 km north of Lima, Peru – mid afternoon:

Ruth is not home when Harry arrives at the beach house, so he parks his rental Toyota Rav4 amongst the trees at the end of the driveway, in the lee of the cliffs, where it is less likely to be seen. He is relieved to see the beach house is very well hidden, with cliffs flanking it from both sides, the driveway a steep incline from the access road which passes through the small town of Vegueta.

The beach house is almost luxurious, compared with the many shacks which litter the coastline between this place and Lima. It is a rather large bungalow, and built from stone, which is rare in this environment, and it appears to have been built to last. He imagines it would be earthquake proof.

He sits on a chair by the back porch, and waits. He knows he should have rung Ruth, but in his eagerness to see her, he'd convinced himself that he should simply turn up on her doorstep and surprise her. That way he'll know immediately if her feelings for him are the same as they were – or not. His trade craft has dropped significantly since he's arrived in Peru. He likes to blame the weather – high humidity is not to his liking – but he knows that he is not thinking straight, and perhaps, as Erin had suggested, he should have stayed in London, and left it to others to extract Ruth. It was just over a week ago that he'd believed Ruth to be gone from his life, forever a memory of something that almost was, something precious and desired which had been snatched from him just as they were about to make a life together. It had been the cruellest of events, and barely a day has passed that he hasn't berated himself for his inaction that awful day at the Thames estuary.

It is just gone five o'clock when he hears a car approaching along the driveway, its engine whining in low gear. Deliberately, he hides from view, but when he hears the car pull up, and sees the top of a brunette head, he stands and watches. The last thing he wants to do is to frighten her. For a brief moment, he watches her unseen. Yes, she is thinner than she'd been when last he'd seen her. Her cheekbones are prominent, and her eyes are rounded and fearful. She has seen the Toyota.

"Ruth," he says, once she has turned towards the house.

She stops where she is standing, her hands holding two linen bags, probably filled with her shopping. Harry sees in her eyes something he had not expected. She appears momentarily angry.

Slowly she walks towards him, her eyes on his, her expression neutral.

"I suppose I should have expected you to find me," she says, her voice weary.

Harry is flummoxed. The very last thing he had expected from Ruth was indifference. Anger, yes. Joy, hopefully, but this …... this strange and disturbing mix of wariness and distrust is unlike his Ruth, the Ruth he remembers.

"I should have phoned," he says lamely.

"Yes. You should. Do you know how frightened I was when I saw a strange vehicle at the end of my driveway? I thought it was …... well, I hadn't thought it to be you."

"Ruth …... I'm sorry. I just wanted to see you."

She looks closely at him, and for a moment, he sees a softening around her eyes …... but only for a moment, and then her jaw sets, and she appears tired, and even irritated with his intrusion. Harry has never been as bewildered by Ruth as he is at this moment. He knows that whatever he says, it will be the wrong thing, and the last thing he wants to do is to upset her even further. He steps aside, no longer blocking Ruth's path to her door.

"I should go," he says, barely able to look at her. "I can see I'm not welcome."

Ruth places her bags on a chair on the terrace, and steps closer to him, although there is still a large space between them. "It's not that I don't want to see you, Harry. It's not that you're not welcome. You are. I …... I've had a really shit week, and I've had to move all my possessions here, and then organise a safe internet connection – no easy feat – and then here you are. I was looking forward to stepping inside the house and hiding away for a few days, thus the shopping." She looks at him then with a small smile, and Harry catches a glimpse of the old Ruth, the woman with whom he had been hopelessly and helplessly in love for the best part of eight years. There had been no-one else for him, and there could never be anyone else.

"Can I come back another day?"

"Yes. That ... would be ... better. We have a lot to talk about, you and I, and for that I need energy. I'm so tired. I'm tired from running away from danger. I'm tired of _being_ in danger. And I'm tired of my bloody legend. I just want to be Ruth again."

"Can you ring me when you're ready to see me?"

Ruth nods. She then reaches out an arm towards him, but it doesn't reach the distance. Harry isn't strong enough to be touched by her, and then have to drive away, so he makes no move to touch her. He stands his ground. He takes out his phone – a pay as you go he'd bought in Lima – and scrolls through the contacts until he reaches Ruth's name. He presses `call', and a few seconds later, her phone rings from inside her shoulder bag.

"That's my number," he says. "Call me when you're ready to see me."

Ruth smiles at him and nods. "I will."

"If I don't hear from you within three days, I'll call you."

Ruth nods again. "I'll call you anyway." She looks down, and sighs before looking back at him. Her mouth and eyes hold a slight smile. "I'm sorry about today, Harry."

"That's …... alright."

They both know it's not alright. They've both broken cardinal social rules, but their circumstances are hardly normal. Not now. Not after all that they've each lived through.

Harry says goodbye, and then he strides past her, and up the path to his vehicle. As he backs out of the driveway, he notices Ruth enter her house without looking back at him. When he reaches the top of the driveway, there is a lone, spreading huarango tree growing beside the road. For a moment, he imagines bodies hanging from the main branches which hover horizontally over the ground. This is Peru, not Mexico, he tells himself, but Peru has had its share of bloodshed during its history of military occupation. He pulls the Toyota underneath it, and then rests his head on the steering wheel. Harry sobs out his pain, his devastation at Ruth's loss, and the fear that she may still be lost to him. He stays there until his shoulders are steady, and he no longer feels as though his chest is being held in a vice. It is at times like this that he wonders whether the pain of loving someone this much is worth it, whether loving Ruth is worth the hurt, the constant rejection.

By the time he is calm, it is almost six o'clock, and he still has a 100 kilometre drive to Lima. He drives slowly through Vegueta, and then on to the highway south.


	5. Chapter 5

Hotel in Lince District – Lima, Peru – 3 days later – early evening:

Harry deliberately chooses a tourist hotel for his meeting with Dimitri. He'd thought of asking Zoe along, too, but he would rather see her on her own. He has not yet heard from Ruth, but he is certain she will ring him. Although it is already three days since he saw her, this certainty is all he has to hang on to.

Dimitri walks back from the bar with two drinks – a Budweiser for himself, and a Scotch for Harry.

"Thanks," Harry says, and then raising his glass, "Cheers."

"Here's to the job," Dimitri replies.

Harry wrinkles his nose. "I now see the job as the problem. Ruth helped me see that."

"But you stayed in the job."

"What else was I to do?"

Dimitri knows what Harry means. He moved to Six, and asked for an overseas posting – the secret service equivalent of joining the French Foreign Legion.

"I thought I might hang around for a few days," Dimitri says.

"Oh?"

"I ….." Dimitri smiles his enigmatic smile. "The ….. attractions are …... er …... attractive."

"You're talking about Zoe Reynolds?"

"Yeah. I sensed …... chemistry."

Harry looks down at his drink, and smiles. It must be the climate. "Good luck with Zoe," he says. "She's already sleeping with the Peruvian. Juan Carlos."

"Yes, but he's a stooge …... an asset."

"For whom?"

"That's what I've been trying to figure out. Zoe got the impression he was following Ruth. Maybe he tried to hit on Ruth, but she wasn't having any. I can't say I'd blame her."

"Christ." Harry wipes his hands down his face, leaving his fingers pressed into his chin. "Has she told Ruth?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. Zoe might seem ditzy, but I think she's paying attention, and she's keeping up the pretence of a relationship with the guy, hoping he'll allow his guard to slip." Dimitri recognises fear in Harry's eyes. "It's alright, Harry. Zoe knows to not divulge Ruth's hiding place. She's told him that Ruth has skipped, and she doesn't know where she is. As far as I know, Zoe hasn't even contacted Ruth."

Harry sits back in his chair and sighs. He had thought that getting Ruth out of Peru would be a piece of cake. It seems there is someone who wants to keep an eye on her, and as yet, he knows neither who, nor even why, and his team back in London seems none the wiser.

Rachel's flat, Lima – later that same evening.

Harry stands outside the door, his hand raised ready to knock. He hesitates, not sure if he's up to this, a reunion with a former agent, someone he should not be seeking out. _It's not London, though, is it?_ That may not help matters. It appears there are eyes and ears in Lima, and Harry hates not being informed …... he hates not knowing. Only this time, someone he loves may be in danger, and he'd never forgive himself were something to happen to her.

He knocks on the door, three rapid raps. The door opens almost immediately, and he is met by a face he hasn't seen in eight years. She is older, of course, and she's thinner, more angular, and it suits her. There are lines on her face which were not there when she'd left London, and her hair is dark. It is her hair which throws him the most, and he can't help but stare.

"Come inside," she says, as she grasps his arm, and pulls him inside, before she shuts the door behind her. "Give me a hug."

So, Harry turns and wraps Zoe in a bear hug, while she wraps her arms around his shoulders. He is about to let her go when he realises she is crying.

"What is it?" he asks.

Zoe turns away from him, and puts her wrists to her eyes in an attempt to staunch the flow of tears. "Seeing you," she said, "it's brought it all back to me. I really miss London. I just have to keep telling myself I don't."

Harry follows her into the small living area, off which he can see an even smaller kitchen, and bathroom, and he imagines that the closed door leads to the bedroom. He is looking at that door, imagining Ruth having slept in the room behind it.

"This is Ruth's flat," Zoe explains. Seeing Harry's look of concern, she adds, "I check for bugs daily …... just in case."

"I met Dimitri earlier this evening," Harry explains. "He told me that you suspect Juan Carlos of being an asset …... for whom?"

"I have no idea, but I think he's our link to whoever it is removed Ruth from London. Whoever this person or people are, they seem to be using him as a means of keeping an eye on her. By the way," Zoe smiles her old, girlish smile, "I love it that you and Ruth are …... whatever you are to each other. I think you're really well suited."

Harry grunts, but refuses to be led on the subject. Whatever it is between he and Ruth, it's no-one's business but theirs.

"Would you like a cup of coffee …... er …... can I call you by your real name?"

"Yes on both counts …... Zoe." Harry smiles. "If we are being overheard, then I need whoever it is to show their face …... and soon. Has Ruth talked to you? Has she …... shared with you what happened in London?"

"No. She just said that you and she were planning to leave the service together, and then something happened where she had to leave, and she can never go back. Is that true?"

"I really hope not." Harry rubs his fingers across his forehead, wrinkling his skin as he does so. "I'm here to talk to you because of Juan Carlos Conde. Do you think he can be turned?"

Zoe places two cups of coffee on the table. "Take a seat, Harry. Juan Carlos? I think it's possible, and I think I may be the person to be able to do that. He thinks …... he thinks he's in love with me."

"Maybe he is. If you think his feelings for you are genuine, then you might be able to get him to reveal who it is is running him."

"I'm sure he does care for me. I've been with a lot of men who say they love me, but then I later discover that they love what I can do for them. Unfortunately, Will North was one such man."

"I'm sorry about Will."

"Will was not your fault, Harry, and you don't have to feel responsible for me."

"I know. It's just that dealing with Will -"

"- was much easier so far from home. Anyway, he's part of history now."

"How are you for money?"

Zoe smiles widely, and covers her mouth with her hand in a gesture of embarrassment. "You sound just like my Dad! I do bar work in clubs, thus the dark hair. I need to fit in. I only work three or four nights – in tourist clubs – and speak in an accent, and I get loads of tips. It's much easier than being a spy." Zoe lifts her eyebrows as she smiles at Harry.

"I'm here for a reason, Zoe."

"So I gather."

"I need you to report back to me – about Juan Carlos. Don't agree to this unless you are prepared to put Ruth's life and wellbeing ahead of your enduring relationship with him. I have a mobile phone which is safe, and you can contact me on that."

"What if my phone is being monitored?"

"Do you suspect it may be?"

"I have no reason to believe so. I've changed my SIM card three times already since I left Chile. The only people who have this number are Juan Carlos, my manager at the club, Ruth, and now you. Oh, and I gave it to Dimitri."

"Have you looked into the manager at the club where you work?"

"Yes. He's worked at the same place for the past fifteen years, so he's not under suspicion …... not yet."

"So," Harry says, again rubbing his forehead with his fingers, "the only loose connection is Juan Carlos."

"It seems that way, and he disappears every now and then. He says he's visiting his family in the mountains, and so he's out of mobile phone range, but I don't believe him. I've yet to meet his family."

"Consider everything to do with Ruth, Dimitri and me to be classified information, and keep it from him."

"I will. By the way, Harry," Zoe says, leaning forward, and breaking eye contact with him, "is Dimitri single?"

"You're interested, I take it." Harry is smiling.

"I might be."

"He's getting over a broken romance with my Section Chief, but he might be up for something uncomplicated."

"Oh, I can do uncomplicated. I may never again be able to commit."

"Believe me, Zoe, when you meet the person who has been born to be with you, you will have no difficulty at all with commitment."

"Speaking from experience, are we?"

Harry purses his lips in an embarrassed smile, and then sips his coffee. Zoe knows that the tough and uncompromising man who had been her section head has lost his heart to another, and she couldn't be happier for them both.

"On a more serious note," Harry adds. "I need you to keep in touch with Dimitri so that you know when your gaol sentence is up, and you can return to London ... if that is what you wish. You shouldn't have to spend the best years of your life rattling around the world, just because some politician broke a promise."

"Thank you, Harry. I appreciate that. I'm sure my mum and dad will appreciate that also. I probably have nieces and nephews I've not even met. My sister and brother ... I've missed them. I hope they've missed me. Ten years is so much longer than I'd ever imagined." Zoe laughs awkwardly, and then looks down, and wipes her eyes with her fingers. "Mostly ... I try not to think about it," she adds.

From across the table, Harry sighs.

After Harry leaves, Zoe calls Juan Carlos. He answers on the third ring.

"Where are you?" she asks.

"At your flat. Where are you?"

"I'm visiting a …... friend. Do you want me to come home? My friend is a bit boring, and I miss you."

Zoe knows she can trade on Juan Carlos' jealousy. She enjoys the cat and mouse game she is playing with him. Although she is fond of him, and he is an excellent lover, she is not in love with him, and never will be. She is about to work towards turning him, and that involves reeling him in. She can feel the trill of fear underneath her skin. Suddenly, surprisingly, she misses her life at MI-5.

* * *

Harry walks back to the hotel. It is not even 11 o'clock, and the streets are busy. He has deliberately dressed casually so he will not stand out, and so long as he keeps to well-lit streets, he considers that he is no less safe on the streets of Lima at night than he'd be on the streets of London. He has just entered his hotel via a side street when his phone rings.

"Hello." Were he in England, he'd answer with his name. Despite only having given his number to a few, he still feels the need for caution.

"Harry, it's me."

"Ruth. Are you alright?"  
"I'm fine. I'm good …... rested, and feeling more human than I have in a long time. Can we talk?"

"Do you mean now?" Harry enters the lift, and presses the button for the sixth floor.

"No, I don't mean now. I …... I thought you wanted to talk to me here. You drove all the way here three days ago, and I thought you might want to come back."

"Do you want me to?"

"I do... and I'd like it were you to stay for a few days. As long as you like. I'd feel safer were you here ….. with me."

He'd be mad to say no. He'd be mad to even hesitate.

"Is tomorrow too soon?"

"No, Harry. Tomorrow is perfect."

Harry has to contact Dimitri in the morning, and he'll also want to check on Zoe's plan for turning Juan Carlos. He knows both Dimitri and Zoe are perfectly capable of handling their particular roles, but he also wishes to keep an eye on things. Added to that, he needs to make email contact with Erin and George, both of whom have been silent for the past three days, and this worries him.

"Expect me mid afternoon, Ruth. I'd like to stay. I'd like to stay for as long as you'll have me."

Harry thinks his implication is clear. He hopes it is just as clear to Ruth.


	6. Chapter 6

Jorge Chávez International Airport, Callao, Lima, Peru – mid morning:

The tall Englishman steps on to the tarmac from his plane, putting on his sunglasses in an attempt to block out at least some of the glare. He suddenly wishes he had sent someone else on this fact-finding mission, but of course, there _is_ no-one else. He is left having to rely solely on himself ... again. Those on whom he has previously depended have not been trustworthy, and he has been betrayed …... again. Betrayal and abandonment have been themes which have woven their way through his life since the age of 6. First there was his mother, and then there is a long list of people who have not been able to stay the distance with him, including his adopted parents. Then there was Northern Ireland, followed by Kosovo, and then London. Everyone – including Jason Belling, whom he'd thought of as his own flesh and blood – has left him. He knows that he is not the problem, so it must be them. People are weak-willed, and cannot be trusted. As a species, humans are deeply flawed. It is as simple as that.

He has been trying the number for the Conde boy, but his phone seems to be turned off. The man wipes his brow with a large handkerchief, and walks towards the baggage collection. He has decided to stay at the most expensive hotel in Lima, and he'll spend a couple of days becoming familiar with the city. Only then will he seek out Juan Carlos, and he'd better have some news for him. If he doesn't, he's going to have to use force, and he'd rather not. He has always had others to do that on his behalf. It may surprise his enemies to know that he hates the sight of blood. It turns his stomach. Death, on the other hand, is inevitable. He does not fear death - his, or others'.

* * *

Casa Bella Boutique Hotel – Central Lima – late morning:

Harry checks his email, and there is just a brief update from Erin, along with an apology. She and Calum had been busy in the field, and she implies that Calum is still in Edinburgh, having successfully infiltrated a student group with an agenda to create chaos - firstly in Edinburgh, and then in London. Harry would appreciate details, but the email is brief, so he writes back quickly, giving a list of names to be followed up – Juan Carlos Conde, after which Harry writes the word, _Urgent_, and then he lists Ruth's employer, and the landlord of both Ruth's and Zoe's flats. He also gives George Fairbrother instructions to check the CCTV at all the international airports in Peru. He already knows that his analyst has been checking the flight lists, but perhaps images will be not only be quicker, but more accurate. A lot of time can be wasted in following up legends, but an image does not lie.

Harry has to admit that since he has arrived in Peru, and especially since his quick trip north to see Ruth, he has not been at his best. His mind is in a turmoil of confusion, and he is afraid for Ruth. London seems a long way away, and he wants his London-based team to do more to ensure Ruth's safety. Not knowing the face of his enemy is not something Harry enjoys.

* * *

Harry arrives at Ruth's beach house just before four o'clock. He carries his luggage and a two supermarket bags - one of food, and the other carrying drinks - to the back door, and knocks. He knocks several times before he remembers Ruth saying that she generally walks along the beach in late afternoon. He leaves his things under the porch, out of the sun, and walks around the house to the seaward side.

He follows a path around the perimeter of the house, and this leads to a series of steps through some scrubby bushes, and down to the sand. When he reaches the sand, he removes his shoes and socks, leaving them on the bottom step. The beach is vast, and beyond that, the sea is roiling, a haze of salt and sea spray hovering over the ocean as far as the eye can see. Harry has travelled a lot in his almost fifty nine years, but he's never seen anything quite like this. Behind him, the cliffs are sheer, a constantly menacing presence giving way to a broad, flat beach, which receives the waves from the East Pacific ocean. The waves are loud as they surge and break on the beach….. much louder than they are on the beaches in England.

Harry is slowly walking across the sand to the water, when he notices movement further along the beach. He turns to his right to see Ruth strolling along the sand towards him. She is dressed in a knee length skirt, with a shirt which hangs loosely over her skirt. Her feet are bare. She looks incredibly young and vulnerable. When she looks up and sees him, she smiles, and it is then that he knows things are alright between them.

"Hello, Harry," she says, as she reaches him. "It's really good to see you. Thanks for coming."

"I was hoping you wouldn't turn me away again."

She smiles at him, nods, and turns towards the beach house. Harry follows her, a few steps behind, as she climbs the steps ahead of him. He picks up his shoes and socks, and climbs the steps behind her, his eyes on her hips, a slight smile of satisfaction on his lips.

* * *

Ruth has shown him to the spare room, where he is hanging his clothes in the empty wardrobe, and sliding his casual shirts and underwear into drawers. He is a little disappointed that they are to sleep in separate rooms. In his mind, he had them greeting one another lovingly, and then retiring to bed – together. Despite her cool reception, Ruth seems happy to have him here with her, and she has also stated that he can stay as long as he likes. He, on the other hand, is nervous and self-conscious, and hopes he is managing to hide this from her.

He has just finished unpacking when she appears at the open door to his bedroom.

"I'm making tea. Would you like some?"

He turns and nods and smiles, holding her eyes with his. There is a divide between them, and he's sure it is not of his own making ….. but …...

"Are you hungry, Harry?"

"Not especially."

"Just a few biscuits, then."

"That might be nice."

They are both the very essence of English politeness, and it's driving him crazy. He wants honesty and openness with Ruth. He wants to explore his passion for her. More than anything, he needs to know if she still loves him in the same way he has never stopped loving her. He has no idea how best to broach the subject of _them_.

The house has a modern kitchen, next to which is a large dining table around which are eight chairs. Ruth has placed a teapot, milk, sugar, cups, and a plate of biscuits on the table, and she stands beside the table, waiting for him to choose a seat for himself.

He sits on a chair which is opposite where she stands. He hadn't realised how complex is the politics of people meeting one another after a long time apart. Ruth pours them each a cup, and she allows him to add milk and sugar to his liking.

"I thought you might remember how I take my tea, Ruth," he says, after she'd watched him add a drop of milk, and three teaspoons of sugar.

"I do. It's just that you now take three teaspoons of sugar, instead of four."

"I've never in my life taken four teaspoons of sugar."

"You did, Harry. You added the extra teaspoon when the …... Gavriks were in town ... although if we're being honest, at that time, your drink of choice was Scotch."

There. It had been spoken. The G-word, and how difficult their lives had been while they were in London. Harry sips his tea, and then takes a deep breath before he speaks.

"I need to know what happened, Ruth. To you. I always believed you'd died at the scene of the stabbing."

"I know."

Harry's head jerks up, and he looks at her – her brow creased with worry – and try as he might, he cannot hide the hurt which he's been holding in.

"You _knew_ that I believed you'd died?"

"Harry, it's not as it sounds. I …... didn't have a chance to get a message to you. I had no time to myself. They were-"

"_They_? Who is `they', Ruth?"

"Do we have to dissect this now?"

"I'd rather like to know. Ruth, I spent the past eleven months grieving your death. We all did."

"I'm sorry …..."

"You're _sorry_?"

"Harry …..." Ruth's face shows pain, and only then does Harry draw back, but he can't just sit there, watching her. He suddenly gets up, pushing the chair back so that it scrapes along the polished hardwood floor, the sound as jarring as her words. "Harry," Ruth repeats, not knowing what to say to him to ease his turmoil.

Harry walks straight to the floor to ceiling windows, and looks out at the sea, still churning, still turbulent, as the evening breeze whips the water, so that each wave which approaches the beach wears a white cap. Harry sees nothing at all through the window. All he is capable of is feeling, and the intensity of his feelings frightens him.

He feels her standing close behind him, so he turns. Ruth is less than an arm's length away from him. He can no longer read her face. He knows that she knew he thought her to be dead, so why does he feel like this? Why is his chest so tight?

"There were some powerful people behind what happened to me, Harry. They were after you, and I believed that what I did was preferable to you being their direct target."

Ruth's voice is gentle, and he takes a few moments to take in what she just said. _Christ – she sacrificed herself for me …... again_!


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N:**** This chapter is definitely M rated... and I'm upping the rating to accommodate this chapter, and some later ones, which have some more shenanigans, and some naughty words.  
**_

* * *

Beach house, 100 km north of Lima – late afternoon:

Harry is standing by the window, his body tense, eyes gazing over Ruth's shoulder while he tries to make sense of this.

He is angry. He is angry with Ruth for co-operating in a scheme which had her denying them, and so turning her back on the future they'd only just begun planning for themselves. He is angry with Ruth, but mostly he is angry with those who convinced her to leave the country, never to see him again. He is angry with Ruth …... _so_ angry …... but he is even more angry with himself. How could he not have known she was alive? What kind of spy did that make him? He'd stood by – feeling sorry for himself, because he'd believed her to be dead – while all along she was acting to protect him.

Again.

_Jesus._

She is watching him as realisation dawns on his face. She did what she did out of regard and respect for his position. She did what she did out of respect and love for him. How could he not have seen that? How can he possibly allow himself to feed and nurture such anger? How can his love for her not outweigh his anger? Of course, in the end, after weighing and measuring all that has happened, his love for her wins.

He feels her hands on his waist, and when he looks into her eyes, he cannot stay angry. Her eyes are pleading with him, drawing him in – as they always have – and he sinks against her, sighing heavily as he slides his arms around her, pulling her close. He can feel his own heart thudding rapidly inside his ribcage, while Ruth's mouth seeks the skin of his neck. Again, he breathes out heavily, and draws her even closer to him, his hands splayed across her back while she sucks and licks and kisses her way from his neck to his throat, along his jawline, and then to the place beneath his ear which, when she kisses it, sends a thrill through his whole body, but focusing chiefly in his groin. He quickly drops his hands to grasp her buttocks, and pulls her to him, at the same time he tightens the muscles in his own buttocks, and thrusts against her with his pelvis. The sensation of her body against him like that is almost too much to bear.

Harry pulls back from her, not wanting this to be too fast, but when he sees the want in her eyes, and feels the longing in her whole body, he can't hold back. He begins kissing her gently, softly, slowly, but then Ruth pushes her abdomen against his growing hardness, and any intention to exercise restraint is immediately forgotten.

"We've waited so long for this," he mumbles against her mouth, before he parts his lips and seeks her tongue with his.

What happens next is so fast that Harry has difficulty keeping up – with her, and with his own depth of desire. How could he have thought – even for a minute – that sex with Lydia would satisfy him?

They have pulled apart while Ruth's fingers quickly undo his shirt buttons, and then push the garment from his shoulders. Once his chest is free so that her lips can love his flesh, he grabs the hem of her shirt – clumsily, it seems to him – and pulls it up over her head. She lifts her arms – compliantly, like a child – so that he can then gaze at her bra, and what it is it barely contains. She fumbles with the clasp at the back, and he leans closer to her, pulling her hands away, so that he can unclasp the bra – one-handed – and let it slide down her arms, and then to the floor. He smiles into her eyes, pleased that his one-handed bra-removing skills are still up to scratch. It's been years since he's tested that particular skill.

Harry leans down to take one nipple in his mouth, his hand covering her other breast, his fingers squeezing, his thumb caressing the nipple. As he lifts his head from her, he notices the open door to her bedroom, and grasping her hand in his, he leads her towards the door. On their way through the doorway, they shuck off shoes, his socks, his trousers, then his underwear, so that once they reach the bed, he is naked (her hand is grasping his cock, and he is moaning) and he falls on the bed beside her.

Her hand on his flesh is so arousing that he lies quietly, until she removes her hand so that she can undo her skirt, and slide it down her legs. No sooner has she slid her pants down her body, and kicked them on to the floor than Harry is leaning over her, his hot, hard flesh grazing her inner thigh. In response to his movement against her, she lifts her hips to meet him.

He is inside her so quickly that he has to stop for a moment to prevent himself coming then and there. Her hands are around his shoulders, and he feels the scratching of her fingernails across the skin of his back. The sharp pain on the flesh of his back is an exquisite counterpoint to the surge of pleasure in his lower body. For a few seconds he breathes deeply in an attempt to bring his body under control. Once he is fully inside her, he takes a moment to check on her, to see how she is travelling.

"Alright?" he asks.

"Very much so," she breathes, smiling into his eyes, before she sighs and closes her eyes. "Let's just do it, Harry. It's just sex. I've been waiting -"

But she doesn't complete her sentence. He begins moving inside her, and then faster and deeper. What begins as quiet and gentle lovemaking, soon becomes a hard and fast fuck, and it is over far too soon. When he feels his balls tightening, Harry waits until he feels Ruth come before he lets himself go.

Once he has his breath back, Harry rolls on to his side, taking Ruth with him. While still inside her, he holds her close to him, and then opens his eyes to look at her. Her eyes are closed, and she appears to be asleep. He pulls her against him, and then lets his head rest on the pillow. In less than a minute, he is asleep.

He wakes to feel her lips on his chin. "Are you okay?" she asks.

He opens his eyes slowly, noticing that he has slid out of her, and that his flaccid cock rests wetly against her thigh. He tries to pull away a little, but she won't let him. "I like the feel of you against me," she says. "We can shower once we've rested."

He smiles at her, his capacity for speech having temporarily left him.

"Why did you never tell me you could fuck like that?"

Harry stares at her. Who _is_ this woman? And where is the Ruth he used to know?

"Oh, come on, Harry. Don't look so shocked. I've been hanging around Zoe for the past seven weeks, and I've had to listen to she and Juan Carlos going at it for most of that time."

"You've had to _listen_?"

"The walls in some of the hostels we stayed in were paper thin. Besides, Will taught Zoe to swear like a sailor. What we did just then was fuck, and it was wonderful." She reaches up to place a soft kiss on his lips. "I can't wait until we do it again."

_Jesus!_

"But this time we'll make love," he says quietly.

"Mmm, lovely."

With the tension of their meeting behind them, they both sleep some more.

* * *

The Grid, Thames House, London – late evening:

As Ruth and Harry doze in one another's arms, George Fairbrother is still working. He devotes daylight hours to his usual work, and when five o'clock comes around, he devotes another five to six hours to the tasks Harry has given him. Over 50,000 British people visit Peru each year, which averages out to over 4,000 a month. He has decided to scan all airport arrivals, and run comparisons with the names on the MI-5 database. He knows this will take some time, but he is not prepared to only examine passengers from Britain, or even those with British passports. One of his filters is to allow through any passengers who have spent more than a month in the UK within the past ten years. So far, there have only been three alerts - a US diplomat who'd been stationed in Beirut, and two significant members of the Chinese government, all of whom are in Peru on legitimate business. He estimates the full scan to take at least 12 hours, and maybe longer. After all, there are a lot of names on the MI-5 database. Like his boss, George is a patient man.

* * *

**_A/N: The next chapter is the one where (almost) all will be explained._**


	8. Chapter 8

**_A/N: Thanks to all who are still reading, following, and especially to those who have taken time out to review._**

**_Hopefully, this chapter goes part way to explaining things._**

* * *

Ruth's beach house – early evening:

Ruth and Harry sleep for an hour before she stirs, and places a kiss on his neck. Harry opens his eyes, sees Ruth close to him, looks down at their naked bodies, entwined on the bed, and smiles into her eyes.

"Is this really us?" he asks, his voice husky with emotion.

"It only took us six years."

"_Six_ years?"

"It's a little over six years since we had dinner together. We took our time, Harry."

"I wouldn't have it any other way …... other than your having to go into exile twice, that is."

"Mmm, well, I learned a lot while dealing with the wide world on my own …... this time especially."

Ruth rolls out of Harry's arms, grabs her bathrobe, and heads out of the bedroom, while he watches her every move.

"If you want to share the shower with me, you'd better move," she says, throwing him a cheeky grin as she steps through the doorway.

Harry does move, and quickly. They share a shower, mostly spent gazing at each other with admiring eyes. Ruth then takes the shower gel, and pours a little into her hands, and begins to wash his shoulders, slowly moving her hands over his back and chest, and then down his belly. He feels the familiar stirring, and longs to give in to it, but there are more important things he needs to be doing. He leans towards Ruth, kisses her deeply, and then takes both her hands from where they are massaging his lower abdomen, and removes them from his body.

"We'll have plenty of time for this, Ruth," he explains, "But first we need to eat, and then we must talk."

"I never imagined you as a man to turn down a woman, Harry."

"I'm not turning you down. I'm postponing the offer."

Harry then steps from the shower before he changes his mind.

* * *

After dinner, they sit at the table over drinks – Harry with a Scotch, and Ruth with a cup of tea.

"I ….. we …... travelled to the mountains with your daughter," Ruth says at last, after they'd discussed their meal, the wine, and the probability of rain the next day.

"Did you know at the time who she was?"

"I didn't recognise her at first. It had been a number of years since I saw the video Danny had taken of her. All I can say is her face rang a bell, and then when she talked about emailing the photos to her husband, brother, and parents, it still didn't register. It was after we parted company with her that Zoe remembered who she was, and I suddenly realised the implications of her sending you photos featuring Zoe and me. I knew it was only a matter of time before you'd find me."

Harry is silent for at least a minute, while he takes in what she is saying. "You didn't _want_ me to find you? Ruth …... you asked me to leave the service and live with you. When I saw those photographs Catherine took, and realised you hadn't died, all I could think about was how soon I could get here to be with you …... and take you home."

This time it is Ruth who is silenced, as she leans across the corner of the table and places her hand on Harry's. He lifts his thumb to stroke her fingers. "I'm not sure it's safe for us both to go home." Ruth says quietly. "Had I stayed in England – with you – they would have killed you. This hasn't been about the job, Harry. This time it's personal."

"This time?"

"I'll get to that in a moment. After Sasha Gavrik stabbed me, I spent two months recovering from my injury. Mostly I was still in London, but after a while, I was taken to the US. I had a minder with me at all times, and usually this person was female. I surmised they were contract nurses with connections to the underworld. I'm sure even bad guys need nurses." Ruth smiles at Harry, but his face is set in a serious expression. "I couldn't contact you, and if I did, I was told you'd be killed. I don't know if that's true, but I couldn't risk it. It was just sheer luck that I was able to get away when I did. I was being held in a hotel in Florida, and I conned my minder - a young man - to go out and do some shopping for me. While he was gone, I left, having packed my things the night before."

"George – my newest analyst – tried to access the hospital files, but your file had been destroyed. There was no electronic evidence that you'd ever been there."

"That would have been Serge. Serge Ellis. He was working in -"

"The PM's office. The PM was in on this?"

"No. Serge acted alone. He was paid a lot of money by a certain someone who had been waiting patiently for the right opportunity. When Sasha stabbed me, and I ended up in hospital, that was the opportunity he'd been waiting for."

"Serge was gaoled a few months ago for some minor security infringement or other. It would seem the PM knew more than the rest of us. Who was Serge's benefactor, Ruth?"

"It's the same man as last time, but this time he hasn't the backup he had six years ago."

"You've lost me."

"Who is it wants to hurt us both? Who is it has unfinished business with us both? Who would think it a suitable punishment to leave me wandering around the world without you, while you were left alone, believing me to be dead? He doesn't care whether you are still with MI-5, or not. After all, he'd been kicked out of the country in disgrace."

"This is all _Mace's_ doing?"

"Yes. When I was working at the Home Office, I accidentally accessed a file. It was a personnel file on Oliver Mace. It must have been a flagged file. As soon as it was accessed, he knew …... or more correctly, Serge Ellis knew, but not before I'd copied the whole file. I still have the memory stick. It's in a safe in the Home Office …... but I remember most of it word for word."

"How can Mace's file be that …... explosive?"

Ruth rises to pour herself another cup of tea. "More Scotch, Harry?"

Harry stands to pour his own drink. "I don't expect you to wait on me," he says, smiling.

Once they are again both sitting down – Harry at the end of the table, and Ruth next to him, across the corner, her back to the window, Harry grasps Ruth's hand in his, and nods for her to continue.

"Perhaps if I tell you the gist of what was in Mace's file, you will understand why it was kept away from ordinary staff members. I've never considered myself to be an `ordinary' member of staff."

"You've never ever been ordinary, Ruth." Harry lifts her hand and brings it to his lips.

Ruth is tempted to lift Harry's head, and kiss him, but there will be time for that later. What she is about to tell Harry, she has never told anyone, not even the Home Secretary.

"Oliver Mace was born Arthur Oliver Davies, the only child of a single mother, Constance Beatrice Davies, who was born in Cardiff in 1933, and orphaned at age fourteen, after which she ran away to London, and supported herself through prostitution. Her son was born in 1956, and she moved to Bristol to be nearer a man who promised to take care of her and her child. That man eventually went back to his wife, so she continued selling herself until her death from pneumonia in November 1962, when Oliver was 6. He was taken into care, where apparently he was a difficult and headstrong child, and received regular beatings."

"God, Ruth, I'm almost feeling sorry for him."

"I felt the same way when first I read it. It was when he was in front of a Magistrate for setting fire to the front fences of some private homes, that he was noticed by a lawyer by the name of Clifton Mace - later a barrister, and then QC - who with his wife, took him into their home, and eventually adopted him."

"Why would he adopt a kid with a penchant for setting fires?"

"Apparently, Mace looked into the boy's background, and talked to his teachers. He was very smart, and the Mace's were in their late 40's, and had not been blessed with children of their own. They ensured he had the best education, and when he was accepted into Cambridge, they felt their decision to adopt him had been vindicated. Unfortunately for them, both the Mace's – Clifton and Ada – were at home the night their house caught fire, and they both died from smoke inhalation. Oliver was away at university at the time, so was never a suspect, and fortuitously, he was the sole beneficiary of their estate. Only a month after Oliver obtained his degree from Cambridge, the children's home where he'd lived for 7 years also burned down, and four members of staff died, along with three of the twenty four children who lived there. The fire was started in the staff quarters."

"And – let me guess – Oliver was not implicated in this fire?"

"Strangely, no. He was questioned, but he had an alibi. He was dating the Attorney General's daughter, who was later to become his first wife."

"Very convenient for Oliver."

"But not for her, apparently. Anna Mace filed for divorce after only four years of marriage, stating that Oliver was handy with his fists. She also had been overheard saying that Oliver had once threatened to set fire to the house whilst she slept, but her barrister had convinced her to leave that out of her affidavit, since it was a `she said-he said' situation."

"This just gets better and better."

"You haven't heard the best of it yet, Harry. You're going to love this. This is the reason that Mace's file has been buried beneath layers of encryption."

"But not even that is safe from you, Ruth."

She smiles at him, and squeezes his hand. "On this file is the name of Oliver Mace's biological father, and Harry, you're not going to believe this."

"I'm all ears, Ruth."

"I've seen you naked, Harry, and `all ears' you're not, but you are `all' something else."

Harry blushes at Ruth's implied observation.

"That was meant as a compliment."

"I can't take the credit for it, Ruth. It's purely down to genetics."

"However it got there, I'm very glad." Ruth looks down, to break eye contact, and give Harry some time to gather himself. She hadn't meant to embarrass him. "Oliver Mace's biological father was a man by the name of Nikolai Gavrik, commonly known as Nicky."

"Gavrik?"

"Yes, Gavrik. In the 1940's and 50's, Nicky Gavrik regularly visited London on business. Nicky Gavrik was also the father of Ilya Gavrik. Oliver Mace is the illegitimate half-brother of Ilya Gavrik, and the uncle of Sasha."


	9. Chapter 9

"Dear God!" Harry covers his face with his hands, and then pulls them down over his eyes and cheeks until his eyes are free to look at Ruth. "This information could be explosive -"

"Or, alternatively, it may mean nothing at all. It's likely he knows who his father was, but there's no evidence - so far - that he's met Ilya and Sasha."

"But Ruth ….. what if the trouble we had with the Gavrik family was because of this? What if Mace and Ilya were colluding?"

"And what if they were not? What if Sasha meant to stab you, and instead got me - accidentally?"

"And what if Mace somehow ordered his nephew to get rid of one of us? This information changes everything."

Harry gets up from from his chair, and as he walks behind Ruth on his way to the window, he rests his hand on her shoulder for just a couple of seconds, and in response, she lifts her shoulder a little, and meets his hand with her cheek. He smiles at her gesture of love and intimacy. Again as before, Harry stands at the window, looking out into the dark night. Anyone could be out there, waiting until they have gone to bed, ready to strike, to take them both out with one bullet, or two blows. _God,_ he thinks, _I've been in the spy game for far too long. I'm ready for a normal life …... a life with this woman._

Suddenly, he feels Ruth by his side, and her arm slides around to his back, drawing him closer to her. She rests her head on his shoulder, and he puts his arm around her waist, pulling her against him. He sighs with contentment.

"You know, Harry," Ruth says at last, "I believe that Oliver Mace is about to come to Peru himself, from whatever hole in the ground he's been hiding. He'll want to know why it is Juan Carlos has not managed to keep an eye on me. Perhaps more than anything, he wants to know why I didn't fall for Juan Carlos' charms."

"He tried it on with you?"

"Only once. I'd already run into Zoe, and we were travelling together. I gave him the cold shoulder, waving my wedding ring in his face."

"Ah, I noticed that."

"It's part of my legend. I pretended to be a grieving widow ... it wasn't a great leap. I guess I can put the ring in a drawer now. Anyhow ... it made Juan Carlos back off, and then he latched on to Zoe."

"_Jesus,_" Harry says with emphasis, as he turns towards Ruth, and puts both arms around her. "I have my analyst working on checking arrivals in Peru, without knowing who we're looking for. We can now fine tune the search. Where did I leave my phone?"

"Harry, it'll be after midnight in London."

"Then I'll leave a message for him to call me back."

Harry goes off in search of his phone, and when he finds it in the bedroom Ruth had assigned him (and which he hopes he'll not need for sleeping in), he puts in a call to George Fairbrother in London.

"I left a message on his voicemail," he tells Ruth, when he walks back into the dining area. Ruth is tidying the table, and placing their used glasses, cups and spoons in the sink. Once she has cleared the table, she turns to look at Harry.

"I just had a thought," she says quietly. "Mace will probably use a false name on entering Peru, and I think I know the name he'll use. Arthur Oliver Davies. It's Arthur Davies wants revenge - not Oliver Mace."

"Why would he use his original name, knowing that you have that knowledge?"

"I believe he wants me to know. Having read his file, I believe I know how he thinks. He likes his target to see his movements, so they'll know how clever he is. Everything he does comes from his needing to be more clever than his quarry, but lacking in normal human values, such as compassion and empathy ... he considers those to be weaknesses. All we have to do is wait until he steps on a live land mine ….. metaphorically speaking, of course."

* * *

Country Club Lima Hotel, Lima – late evening:

The man with the balding dark hair sits on his bed, contemplating his good fortune in there being a cancellation at the hotel only a half hour prior to his checking in. He sips a fine malt whiskey, and wonders at his plan to simply turn up at the flat where Zoe Reynolds and Juan Carlos Conde are living. He could do it tonight, but he is tired, and he wants to gloat over his decision to come to Peru and do the job himself. He should know better than to employ amateurs. He'd not been surprised when the Evershed woman had rejected Juan Carlos' advances. She seems to find older men attractive, which is one of the reasons she so irritates him. What she sees in Harry Pearce is beyond his comprehension. Added to that, like an eel, she keeps slithering out of his grasp. He has given her a sign, and if she's in touch with Harry, and he has his people doing what they usually do, then Ruth already knows he is here in Lima, to find her. He has some plans up his sleeve for her. He won't let her get away from him this time.

* * *

Beach house north of Lima – 6 hours later:

Harry groans as he hears the ringtone of his mobile phone. He is safe in the arms of the woman he loves, his face resting against her hair while she sleeps. Bloody hell! Who would ring him in the middle of the night?

"Harry …... your phone." Ruth's voice is urgent.

"Ugghh -" Harry sits up suddenly, aware he has been sleeping with Ruth, and in her bed, but little else registers, until Ruth hands him the phone, and in the dark he can see the flashing on the screen as it rings.

"Pearce," he says, as soon as he has the phone in his hand, and presses the `answer call' icon.

"Harry, sorry to wake you. It's George. You asked me to ring you back. Do you have news?"

"I'm not sure. Do you?"

"A few names have been flagged so far, but nothing jumps out at me."

"Has one of the names been Oliver Mace?" Harry listens while George presses some keys.

"Er … no, sorry."

"Then try …... wait a minute, George," and he covers the phone's microphone while he mouths to Ruth, `what's Mace's real name again?'

"Arthur Oliver Davies," she replies quietly.

"Try the name, Arthur Oliver Davies."

Again, Harry listens while George presses a few keys.

"Arthur Davies landed at Jorge Chávez International Airport – from the Dominican Republic - yesterday at 10.20 am, Lima time."

"I need to know one more thing. Could you find out what hotel this man has booked into, and text me the details? It's nighttime here, and -"

"It's alright, Harry. I'll do that. It shouldn't take more than ten or fifteen minutes, but I'll text it to you when I have it."

"And the room number, if you can. And his credit card details. Once you have his credit card details, I'll need you to follow him electronically."

"Consider it done, Harry."

"And George …."

"Yes?"

"What time is it in London?"

"It's just after 6 am."

"Do you never sleep?"

"Not if I can help it. There's just too much to do. Bye, Harry."

Harry closes his phone, and places it on the bedside table. "I suppose you heard most of that," he says to Ruth, as he shuffles back under the covers, and back into her arms. As he puts his arms around her, she turns so that he is curved around her back, his face resting against her hair.

"I did. We'd best sleep. It could be a busy day."

* * *

Ruth wakes to an empty bed, and after checking her phone, discovers that it's only 6.42 am. Harry may be in the loo, or he could be getting breakfast. She knows he's a morning person …... unlike her. She snuggles down for another five minutes of shut-eye, and then she gets out of bed, throws her robe over her bed wear – briefs and a camisole – and heads to the living area.

Harry is sitting at the table in his bathrobe, his back to her, his feet bare, and resting on the board floors. For a moment, Ruth watches him – this man who would look under every available rock in the entire world in an effort to find her – and her heart surges with love for him. She pads across the floor, and slides her arms around his shoulders, resting her head against his. He jumps as she touches him, but then he relaxes, grasping her forearms in his hands, and turning to kiss her cheek.

"Good morning," he says in that tone of voice which melts her from the inside out.

"Good morning, Harry. Are you alright?"

"I guess so." He turns in her arms, and leads her to sit in the chair nearest him. It is then Ruth notices his phone sitting on the table in front of him, next to a half drunk cup of coffee. "Would you like a coffee?" he continues, but Ruth shakes her head.

"Are you expecting a call?"

"Not really. I've just made two calls to Lima …... one to Zoe, whom I woke, and the other to Dimitri. Zoe was spending the night in your flat – to get away from Juan Carlos, I suspect – and Dimitri was about to go out for breakfast. I filled them both in on the Mace issue. Zoe has been alerted, and Dimitri has given himself the task of following Mace. There's not a lot more I can do from here."

Ruth suddenly frowns, and two vertical lines appear between her eyebrows. "You're not thinking of ….. going back to Lima …... Harry, there are two of your former agents – people you yourself mentored – who are more than capable -"

"Darling, I know."

Ruth's eyebrows shoot upwards at Harry's use of the endearment, and then she smiles. "You called me darling," she says quietly.

"That's because you are. You're my darling."

"So, at the risk of sounding manipulative, can you promise me you won't go back to Lima, even if things get tricky?"

"I've already made a pact with myself that my first priority is to be your life, and your safety -"

"And yours too, I hope. I don't want to spend the rest of my life without you, Harry."

"Is that a proposal?"

"It's a proposal that we remain together, no matter what. We fit together, Harry."

"I know we do." Harry's smile is smouldering, as he looks right into her eyes. "Shall we …... go back to bed?"

Ruth nods, stands, and takes Harry's hand in her own, as she heads back to the bedroom.

They both remove their robes, and climb under the duvet, moving across the mattress until they are lying close together. Harry turns towards Ruth, and turns her so that she is again lying with her back to him. "I love you, Ruth," he says quietly against her neck. "I want us to grow old together."

"That's what I was trying to say earlier," she replies, pushing her buttocks back until they meet with his body.

"Mmm …... that's good."

Ruth, noticing Harry's hand distractedly circling her abdomen under her camisole, turns her head slightly so that she is half facing him. "Harry …... you know that sex is very good for a lot of things, including taking your mind off that which worries you." To illustrate her point, Ruth reaches down and slides her knickers from her body, and then kicks them to the bottom of the bed. She then takes one of Harry's hands, and pushes it between her legs.

"_Jesus_," she hears him say, as his fingers begin to weave their magic, and she feels him swelling against her buttocks. "That wasn't exactly a subtle move, Ruth."

"It wasn't meant to be."

* * *

Country Club Lima Hotel, Lima – 7.14 am:

As the man with balding dark hair walks through the reception area of the hotel on his way out to breakfast, he looks around at the handful of people, both standing and sitting, but doesn't _really_ look at them. He is sure that no-one who matters would suspect him of being in this city, and even if they did, what could they do about it? Harry Pearce and his lot are so far behind the 8-ball that he can't possibly have discovered that his precious Ruth is somewhere in this busy, noisy city. Apart from the humidity, this man already quite likes Lima. It is to be the place of his greatest triumph, his coup de grâce – without the grâce bit, that is. He has no intention of doing anything mercifully. He demands the greatest pain from the smallest effort.

What the dark-haired man doesn't know is that the younger man with very short hair, reading that morning's edition of the _Lima Post_, seated in an armchair with one long leg crossed over the other, is a former MI-5 agent, now seconded to MI-6, who will watch his every move …... for as long as it takes. Dimitri feels like a prat, dressed as he is in a light-coloured linen suit. He considers the look to belong in 1940's Singapore. He's only dressed that way to fit in with the other tourists.

As Mace leaves the hotel, Dimitri follows. He is off to meet Gloria, an MI-6 agent who has been living and working in Lima for the past two years. Between the two of them, they can have Mace covered.


	10. Chapter 10

_**A/N:**** More M-rated material.**_

* * *

Beach cottage – north of Lima – 7.27 am:

It is only the second time Ruth and Harry have made love, and this time it is the polar opposite of their frantic coupling of the day before. Harry had slid into her from behind, while she pushed her top leg back over his body. It is by far his favourite position, the only tradeoff being that he cannot see his lover's face, but this is balanced by his ability to last much longer. He has set up a gentle, but steady rhythm, while Ruth seems to enjoy it when he slides his fingers up under her camisole, and caresses her breasts.

Ruth is right. Sex is a wonderful de-stressor. He had forgotten, and in the few times he'd had sex with Lydia, he had ended up being more stressed afterwards than before. Should he tell Ruth about Lydia? He thinks it unwise. Maybe in a few weeks, should the subject ever come up.

"Faster, Harry," Ruth says, and he knows this means she is about to climax.

He has been lost inside their lovemaking, imagining that they can keep doing this for an hour or more. Maybe an hour has already passed, and Ruth is tired. He loves it that she is confident enough to tell him what she wants. He hadn't expected that. He speeds up a little, and slides one hand down her body, where he passes his fingers over her bundle of nerves. He pushes into her deeper and faster, and he hears Ruth's cries.

"_Now_ Harry!"

He complies, and she comes so fiercely that he almost slips out of her. He closes his eyes, and lets go. That is all he needs – either his own, or Ruth's permission to climax. He groans against her neck as he comes inside her. He holds himself there by embracing Ruth from behind, all the muscles in his body watery, a sheen of sweat covering both their bodies.

"Thank you," he hears her say breathlessly.

"No …... thank _you_."

After a while, Ruth turns in his arms, and they lie together, their arms loosely around the other. Neither has the energy for anything more. Even post-loving kisses require too much effort.

"Tell me you didn't think of Mace while we were doing that, Harry."

"Only once or twice."

Ruth taps him softly and playfully on his shoulder, and he chuckles.

"I was thinking that if Oliver Mace had only once had sex like we we've just had, then he wouldn't be so obsessed with hurting other people."

"So …... you think all Oliver needs is a good women who will shag some sense into him?"

"It works for me, so it might for him as well."

Ruth throws both arms round his neck, and pulls him closer, before she kisses him, a lazy, half-hearted kiss. Harry returns the kiss, and holds Ruth by his hands on her waist. He then slides his arms around her, and again draws her close to him.

They lie together in comfortable silence for some time. They are not tired so much as temporarily depleted, and even a conversation requires effort. That is, until Ruth shares with him something which has been on her mind.

"Harry," she says carefully.

"Mmm?"

"I was thinking …..."

_Oh, God, Ruth …... please don't think!_

"I was thinking that you seem very …... skilled in bed."

"You mean at sex, Ruth, because when I'm in bed, it's normally to sleep, and to my knowledge, that requires no special skills."

"Of course I mean at sex. You don't have to answer this but …... when I was away – the first time, and then this last time – did you …...?"

"You're asking me about my sex life."

"Yes, and I know I have no right to even ask, so if you don't want to tell me -"

"You'll keep asking, but you'll couch the question differently each time."

"Perhaps."

Harry draws away from her slightly so that he can watch her face. He doesn't want to open this particular door, but feels that he must somehow satisfy her curiosity, otherwise the issue will drive her mad, and she'll not ever let it go.

"Keep in mind, Ruth, that while in Cyprus, you had a committed, sexual relationship with a man, so by comparison my few one-night stands -"

"How many?"

"I wasn't counting. Four, maybe five."

"Did you see any of them more than once?"

"Yes. There was one woman whom I saw maybe three times. She reminded me of you, and when I realised that, I couldn't see her any more."

"And this past eleven months?"

He'd have to give her an A for persistence.

"Up until around three weeks ago, I was having sex with a woman I met at one of those awful dinners for security personnel. She was widowed, and all she was after was sex. I told her I was also widowed, and just sex suited me fine."

Ruth suddenly quietens. Even her body goes very still, and Harry pulls back and watches her. She appears to be staring at the middle of his chest.

"It was nothing, Ruth. I wanted to feel a warm body next to me, even if it was only for a half hour or so. I thought you were dead, and I felt dead inside, but my body required release. We only met maybe four times. It was meaningless for both of us. It was just sex – nothing more."

"It's never nothing, Harry. If you did it with her more than once, it wasn't nothing."

He doesn't know what to say to that, although he knows he should. He wishes he had the words to convey to her how lonely he was, and how much he was missing her, and how sex – even meaningless sex - was his way of attempting to fill the void.

Harry is just about to launch into an explanation when Ruth turns away from him, and climbs out of bed. She puts on her robe, and heads to the bathroom.

"Ruth," he calls after her, but she ignores him.

He lies in bed, listening to the sound of the shower running, and inside his chest his previous joy turns to a muddy slurry of shame, guilt and anger. _You are such a fucking idiot, Pearce. Why couldn't you just lie?_

Harry waits until the shower is no longer running, and still Ruth has not returned to the bedroom. He waits a few minutes longer, and then he goes looking for her. She is nowhere in the house. He stand at the front windows, and then he sees her. Dressed in a red swimsuit, she is walking in the shallows, kicking the water as she goes. Her actions are not those of a happy woman tripping through the water, but an angry one, taking out her ire on something that will not kick her back. He longs to go down to the beach and join her, but he knows she needs this time alone, so he heads to the shower.

* * *

Lima – 8 am:

Dimitri has followed Oliver Mace to an outdoor cafe only two city blocks from his hotel. He watches from across the road while Mace makes several phone calls, but it is apparent that the person on the other end has not picked up.

What Dimitri doesn't know, but suspects, is that Mace is ringing Juan Carlos, and the lazy young sod isn't picking up the phone. _Well, we'll see about that,_ Oliver thinks, having to review his plans. Perhaps a visit is in order. Not now, though. Perhaps much later.

This gives him the day in which to stroll around Lima, looking at the sights. Such a lovely city, a blend of the old and new.

* * *

Ruth's Beach house – 8.45 am:

Ruth returns from the beach, and goes straight to the bedroom, ignoring Harry, who is in the kitchen making pancakes. _When things are going wrong_, he thinks, _it is best to keep busy._

Ruth returns to the living area just as Harry is putting the plate of pancakes in the middle of the table. He had already distributed the plates and cutlery and place mats. He looks up at her, and sees kindness and apology in her eyes.

"Truce?" she says, holding out her arms to him. Harry's shoulders sag in relief as he steps into her embrace, and slides his arms around her, pulling her against him.

"I know it wasn't fair to tell you that. I even felt that I was being unfaithful to you, even though I believed you to be dead."

"I know," Ruth says, lifting her head to look him, before she places a chaste kiss on his lips.

Temporarily relieved, Harry steps away from her, and pulls out a chair for her to sit at the table. "I've left the tea brewing, but I didn't know what you like on your pancakes."

"Lots of butter, and honey," Ruth replies, so Harry brings those from the kitchen, before he sits on the chair opposite.

Both are too occupied with eating, although they are each aware of an underlying current of tension. There is much which remains unspoken, and so after he pours them each a cup of tea, Harry decides to once more open up the subject of Lydia. He waits until they have each added milk and sugar to their tea, and is about to speak, when Ruth beats him to it.

"I'm not cross with you for …... shagging that woman," she begins, looking at her cup of tea. "How can I be? I know that you were sad -"

"I was beside myself with grief, Ruth. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't think straight. The only thing I did properly was work."

"I'm so sorry you had to live through that, Harry."

"I imagine your life wasn't a picnic, either. After all, you were on the run ….. again."

"You're right. I didn't enjoy my second exile, although I tried to see it as a necessary sacrifice."

Harry sighs heavily at Ruth's use of the `s' word. Bloody security services, and the bloody necessity for sacrifice! Well, those days are behind him …... behind them.

"While I was down on the beach I began to feel so angry with you, and it was all about what transpired in the weeks before I was stabbed. I was _so_ jealous of Elena Gavrik, and that doesn't make sense to any thinking person. After all, at the time you were with her, I was a child, and I didn't even know you then. I hadn't exactly returned your interest in me, especially after I came home from exile. The first time, that is."

"I did …... wonder about your jealousy of Elena. I was confused by seeing her again. I'd forgotten how manipulative she could be, and I felt myself being taken in by her all over again. I didn't love her, and I knew back then how hurt you were. I think that's why I decided to tell you the truth about Lydia."  
"Lydia," Ruth repeats the name with obvious distaste. "What a pretentious name."

"I imagine she couldn't help what she was named."

"Was she …...?"

"Ruth …..." Harry puts down his cup, and pushes his plate to the side. "I'm not about to divulge anything about her, other than we had sex – just sex, and no intimacy – a handful of times. We didn't talk, I know nothing about her, and she knows even less about me. She thinks my name is John. I made the decision to stop seeing her even before I found out you were still alive. That's it. To say any more about it is to give it an importance it never had in the first place."

"Alright." Ruth sighs. "I agree. I'm just being ridiculous. I've had this idea of you lusting after me all these years, and …... to be honest, it made me feel rather good, even though I was often afraid of …... of that …. of being that close to you. I was afraid that if we got that close, I may lose you. It seemed easier to not be intimate with you, and that way I could never lose you. To learn that you could have sex with another woman – other than me – was …... well …..."

"A blow to your ego?"

"Yes. You're right. I should just grow up."

Harry says nothing to that, because he has to agree with her. They both have to grow up. Ruth has to take responsibility for her own erratic emotional responses, and he has to stop being so passive where she is concerned. Truth be told, he is afraid of losing her, and that leads him to putting up with a lot from her that he shouldn't. They will have to address these things, otherwise they will not survive as a couple.

* * *

**_A/N: It's in the next chapter that things heat up, but this time outside the bedroom. _**


	11. Chapter 11

Lima – street outside Zoe's flat - 13 hours later – 9.50pm:

Dimitri has been following Mace for most of the day, or rather, he and Gloria have taken turns in following him, because it turns out that Oliver Mace is a _very_ boring man. He watches from within the dark alcove of a doorway as Mace casually strolls up and down the narrow lane outside the building where Zoe has her flat. Not once during Mace's day has he been near Ruth's one-bedroom flat, and he can only surmise that the older man does not know about it. The address of Zoe's flat, on the other hand, has probably been given him by Juan Carlos. At this early stage, Dimitri has to treat Juan Carlos as the enemy.

He dials Zoe's mobile number.

"Hi, this is Kerry."

"It's Dimitri. Where are you?"

"At my flat."

"Which flat?"

"My flat. My own flat. Why?"

"Where is Juan Carlos?"

"He's here with me, watching TV in the living room."

"And where are you in the flat?"

"I'm in the bedroom, preparing for bed. I worked an afternoon shift today, and I'll have to work tomorrow night."

"Is there another way out of your flat other than by the front entrance?"

"Not to my knowledge. Why?"

"Oliver Mace is pacing up and down outside the building."

"What, _now_?"

"Now. I'm at the end of your lane, and I'm watching him. Has Harry rung you in the last twenty four hours?"

"He rang me this morning to warn me that Mace is in town. I expected him to have turned up by now."

"Shit."

"What? What is it?"

"He's after you as much as he's after Rachel. Which side is Juan Carlos on?"

"He says he's on mine, but …... who knows? It looks like I'm about to find out."

"Do you have a weapon handy?"

"Other than my devastating charm and good looks?"

"I'm serious. If he doesn't kill you, he will be expecting Juan Carlos to testify against you. You avoided incarceration. Mace wants revenge. If he can get you back to the UK, it will be a massively black mark against Harry."

"It won't do me a lot of good, either."

"I know, but it's Harry's demise he's been plotting all these years. Look …... I'm hanging up now, but if and when someone knocks on the door, ring me, and keep the line open. We need witnesses to what he has to say."

"I'll do that. Can I stab him with a kitchen knife?"

"Only if you must."

Zoe's flat – Lima – 10.08pm:

Zoe stays in her bedroom, but only after grabbing the sharpest knife from the kitchen – one with a long and sharp blade - and taking it to her room with her. On the way through the living area, she kisses Juan Carlos goodnight. And then she waits.

She doesn't have to wait long. Perhaps 15 minutes after hanging up from talking to Dimitri, there is a light knock on the door. Zoe puts her ear against the bedroom door and listens. It is definitely Oliver Mace – she'd know his voice anywhere. She grabs her phone from the bed, and rings Dimitri.

"He's here," she whispers into the phone. "I'll just play it by ear, if that's alright with you." Then, Zoe leans her head against the door, and listens very carefully to the conversation which is taking place only a few yards away from her, on the other side of the door.

Zoe's flat – Lima – 10.11pm:

"Would you like drink?" Juan Carlos almost forgets to engage broken English when speaking to this man. After all, he has never been an agent – not like Kerry, not like this man with the ugly mouth.

"Not unless you keep the very best Scotch whiskey somewhere in this disgusting hovel." Mace's nostrils flare, showing his distaste for mixing with the lower classes. He chooses to forget that he belongs here even more than Zoe or Juan Carlos. He came from circumstances much more dire than these. "Tell me you know where I can find both Zoe Reynolds and Ruth Evershed. That's all you need to do. Do that, and you'll never hear from me again."

"You pay me more."

"What?"

"You give me money. Need more money."

"Don't we all?" Mace lifts one eyebrow at the same time his lips curl.

"You give money to me …... I tell you …... what you want."

"Oh, really!"

For a man of his age, Mace moves quickly. He steps close to Juan Carlos, and punches him in stomach, causing the younger man to double over with an `oof' sound. Zoe has opened the door a fraction, and can see Mace standing, his back to her, Juan Carlos doubled up at his feet. Bloody hell. It's going to be her job to sort this out, and all she has is a kitchen knife, although it _is_ very sharp, and the blade is long, with a fine, sharp point at its end.

Zoe grabs the knife from the dresser beside the door. She is barefoot, so she can move quickly and silently. There is only two yards between her door and Mace. She acts without thinking that she is about to kill a man, or at the very least, injure him badly. _This is for Juan Carlos, and me, and Ruth and Harry_, she thinks before she slips through the doorway, and launches herself at Mace.

Oliver Mace hears a sound behind him, but is slow to turn. He feels a thump on his back, then a deep pain in his lungs, and his legs give out from underneath him. His last thought before he passes out is of his mother. He wonders whether, when he dies, someone will care enough about him to close his eyelids.

Zoe's flat – Lima – 10.14pm:

Zoe is on a roll. She yanks the knife from Mace's back, and plunges it in again and again. She is past thinking. She is acting purely from a continuing surge of adrenalin ... and the fear and hatred she has already lived with for the past eight years or more. She ignores the blood which covers her hands, and now her knees and even her chin. Her aim is to finish off the fucker, so he can never hurt anyone ever again.

When she is sure that Oliver Mace – former Chairman of the JIC in London – is dead, she leaves the knife in his back, and sits (before she falls), her back resting against the wall which divides the living room from her bedroom. She drops the back of her head against the wall at her back, and wonders briefly how many other people have died in this flat.

Zoe's flat – Lima – 10.19pm:

Juan Carlos has regained enough air in his lungs to be able to stand.

"I think he's dead," Zoe pants from where she sits on the floor, her face pale, her blood-covered hands upturned, resting on her knees.

"You used my best fishing knife!" Juan Carlos is pointing at the butt of the knife which is sticking out of Oliver Mace's back. Around the man's body, his life blood pools.

"It was the sharpest one I could find. I think he's dead. I must have lucked it, and got him in the heart. Who even knew he had one?" Juan Carlos notices how flat Zoe's voice is. There is a dead look in her eyes.

Juan Carlos pushes the body with his foot, and it feels like a dead weight. "I think he's dead too."

Suddenly there is a loud knocking on the door.

"Jesus, who can that be?" Zoe has completely forgotten that Dimitri is still on the phone to her, and she'd left her phone on the dresser by the bedroom door.

Zoe can barely move, so Juan Carlos opens the door to see a tall, dark-haired man holding a gun. Juan Carlos slams the door in his face, his eyes wide.

"You can let him in," Zoe says flatly. "He's one of ours."

"Zoe, open the door!" They hear Dimitri calling out from the hallway.

"Let him in before the neighbours get suspicious," Zoe hisses.

Juan Carlos does as she asks, and Dimitri runs to the body of Mace, and places two fingers on his neck.

"He's dead, " Dimitri says, looking at Zoe, who is still sitting on the floor, her back resting against the wall, her bloodied hands resting on the floor either side of her. "Alright, here's what we have to do." And Dimitri launches into mop-up mode.

* * *

Rachel's flat – Lima – 11.18pm:

Juan Carlos and Zoe collapse on to chairs, while Dimitri looks into every corner of the flat.

"It's clean," he says at last.

"I told you it was," Zoe says with irritation, before she sighs heavily. "I really want my dad."

"Unless your dad lives in Lima, you're a long way from him right now."

"Dimitri …... what will we do now?"

"Juan Carlos, have you somewhere you can go for a month or two?"

"My father and uncles live in the mountains. They always asking me to join them."

"Then join them. You have to be out of Lima for at least three months."

"I think I can never return."

"And give me the knife. I'll get rid of it for you."

"It's my best fishing knife. I need it to clean the Dorado."

"What?"

"It's a fish. We catch it in rivers in the Andes."

"It's a murder weapon. It could implicate you. Best you leave it with me."

Juan Carlos nods, and steps away, already mentally preparing his exit from Lima.

"Zoe, you had best either go back to Chile, or come to Mexico with me."

"Mexico please. I can never return to Chile."

"Right. I'll sort out the rent on this flat tomorrow, but first I'll have to contact some people who can dispose of Mace, and then clean out his hotel room. We can't just leave him there to stink out the place."

Zoe wrinkles her nose at that prospect.

"I can get a clean-up team sorted from the members of 6 who are living in Lima. There are at least eight that I know of. They'll probably chuck the body off a cliff somewhere, making it look like he was set upon by bandits."

"At least 8 members of 6. That's funny," and Zoe then begins to laugh, a high-pitched trill, which soon morphs into sobs, and then tears. She leans against Juan Carlos, who pulls her against his shoulder.

Dimitri goes into the bathroom, and closes the door behind him, partly to give Zoe and Juan Carlos some privacy, but chiefly so he can make a phone call.

* * *

Ruth's beach house – 11.27pm:

Ruth and Harry have only just climbed into bed, and are holding one another close, engaging in some gentle, playful kissing when Harry's phone rings from the bedside table.

"Christ," Harry exclaims, reluctantly pulling away from Ruth as he reaches across to grab the phone. "_What!_" he barks into the phone.

"Harry, I'm really sorry to have interrupted whatever I've interrupted, even if it's your much-needed sleep -"

"It's alright, Dimitri," Harry says, his voice suddenly much calmer, "I know you wouldn't have rung just to tell me that it's night time."

"No. I think you'll want to hear this." And Dimitri tells hims about the events of the evening, and what he plans for the next twelve hours.

While Harry has been listening, he'd reached out with his arm, and pulled Ruth closer to him, so that she too can hear both sides of the conversation. Ruth rests her head on Harry's shoulder, her palm on his bare chest. Every now and again, she moves her palm in a circular motion over his chest. Harry is finding her caresses distracting, so when she's about to do this for the fourth time, he stops her with his free hand, and she frowns at him.

"What if Ruth and I take a quick trip to Lima?" Harry says at last. "We'll both need to see Kerry before she leaves. And you, too, of course."

After around 20 minutes, Harry ends the call, and turns to Ruth.

"Did you hear that?"

"Not all of it, no, but I did hear Dimitri mention a body. It can't be the body we all want it to be, can it?"

"It can, and it is. Now, let's get some sleep. We have a busy day tomorrow."


	12. Chapter 12

Rachel's flat – Lima – next day – 11.12am:

When he and Ruth had arrived at the flat just before 10.30, Harry had been happy to step back for a moment while Ruth and Zoe greeted one another. He knows how important it is, when in a foreign country, to have close and trusted friends, and it is clear that in the weeks Ruth and Zoe had spent together in Peru, they had become unlikely friends.

Harry and Dimitri step into the bedroom for a few moments, to give the two women some time alone together.

"Juan Carlos has already gone back to his family in the mountains," Dimitri says, "and I've been in contact with Sean Holland from Six, and he and a couple of the others will sort out Mace's body, and then they'll sort out the flat itself. I have no idea whether they'll clean it or torch it. Either is fine by me."

"I'd prefer they clean it," Harry replies, keeping one ear on the women in the living room. He and Ruth have barely left one another's sides since he'd arrived at the beach house. He is not terribly happy about being in Lima, either, but in his opinion the occasion warrants it.

"I received an email from Erin this morning," Harry says. "It was the reason we were a bit late getting here. The contents of it were interesting, but I think that Zoe will want to hear about it."

Ten minutes later, the two men are back in the living room, and Zoe has made them all a pot of tea.

"No biscuits, sorry. I'm not a biscuit person, I'm afraid." She looks at Harry apologetically, as he frowns at the news.

"But I'm a growing boy," he says.

Zoe walks around the table towards Harry. "Ruth, I apologise for what I'm about to do. I swear I'm not trying to crack on to him." She then throws her arms around Harry's shoulders, and hugs him. Harry looks surprised, and then he carefully puts his own hands on Zoe's sides, while she holds him. After a while, Zoe pulls away from Harry, but still has her hands on his chest. "You're the nearest thing to my dad, so you're getting the hug I'd like to give him ... were he here."

"I feel very honoured, Zoe," Harry says gently. He looks across the table to see Ruth's eyes shining with love for him. Harry then steps away from Zoe, and pulls out a chair for himself. He and Dimitri sit one side of the table, while Ruth and Zoe sit the other. "This morning, I received an email from Erin Watts, my Section Chief …... soon to be my former Section Chief." Harry looks into Ruth's eyes again, because only the two of them know what he means by that. "My ….. intelligence analyst, George Fairbrother, did a deep search on Oliver Mace, and he came upon – he told me `by accident', but I suspect that he broke a few rules – a series of heavily encrypted emails which passed between Oliver Mace and both Ilya and Sasha Gavrik …... a year ago, when the Gavriks were in London, and going back at least 5 years prior to that. The theme was always the same."

Dimitri and Zoe both look bewildered, so Ruth fills them in on Oliver Mace's early history.

"Holy shit," says Dimitri, when Ruth reaches the end of the story.

"That explains so much," says Zoe.

Ruth continues. "Sasha Gavrik was Mace's nephew, and the man who stabbed me. His mother also manipulated Harry into believing – for 30 years – that Harry was Sasha's father. It is that little lie which allowed Mace to prey on Sasha's loyalties, leading him to wanting to hurt Harry …... and how better to hurt him than to get at me."

"So …..." Zoe takes a while to take it all in, since so much of the information is new to her. "So …... Oliver Mace had been playing the long game for years, and when the Gavriks went to London, he saw an opportunity."

"Exactly. My belief is that Sasha meant to kill Harry, but at the last moment, he made a snap decision to take me instead. After all, his mother had just been murdered by his father, and he had been brain-washed from an early age to hate Harry. In his mind, he would have not only have been defending his late mother's honour, but bringing some kind of long-standing imbalance into balance. He would have considered that to get rid of me would hurt Harry far more than killing him. Oliver Mace hated Harry for a lot of reasons, but one of them was that Harry's beginnings were comfortable compared with Mace's. And Harry's opposing Mace's plan for torturing terror suspects was just another thorn in his side."

"That is _so_ Dickensian," sighs Zoe. "But I'm glad I killed that bastard. He was scum."

Dimitri reaches across the small table, and places his hand on Zoe's. Harry notices the gentle expression on Dimitri's face, and he hopes that The Job will not interfere with any closeness and happiness these two may be about to share.

"Ruth and I plan to take you both out to lunch. We can all pile into my rental car. There's a nice place in Miraflores which serves Peruvian food, but with Mediterranean influences."

"Good, because I'm starving," Dimitri says.

* * *

Just before three o'clock, Harry and Ruth leave Ruth's old flat – hopefully for the last time – and begin the drive back to the beach house. They all promise to keep in touch, but they know that they will only keep in contact with one another for a short time. The two couples are going different ways, and the four of them are aware that it is possible they may never meet again.

Ruth sighs as Harry pulls the car out from the kerb. "I never thought I'd ever say this, but I'm going to miss Zoe."

Harry reaches across to put his hand on hers in a gesture of reassurance. "We might get an invitation to their wedding."

"Do you really think they'll make it that far?"

"No, I don't. I was trying to make you feel better."

"I'm alright, Harry. While you're with me, I can face anything at all."

"Me too."

* * *

Highway 1N - 47 km north of Lima - 3.53 pm:

Harry and Ruth have driven much of the distance north of Lima in a comfortable silence, but Harry has been thinking, and feels that the situation is ripe for what he needs to say. Even the landscape suits. They have passed several small villages, little more than a collection of shanties, all colourful, but barely more than walls and a roof. The land either side of the road is vast, and trees are few.

"I know you're thinking," Ruth says. "Tell me."

"How do you know?"

"Your forehead. You get those vertical lines, and you purse your lips, and -"

"Alright, alright." He smiles then, knowing the time needs to be now. "I need to tell you, Ruth, that I have concerns about ... about us." When Ruth says nothing, he soldiers on. He has little choice. "I'm worried about us. I ..." And then, he doesn't know how to say what he needs to say.

"You're worried about me. Is that what you mean?"

Harry glances across the cabin at her, and smiles what he hopes is a reassuring smile. Then he nods. "It's both of us, really. It's what happens when we get close. We've always done it, even before we ..."

"Became intimate."

"Yes." Harry's voice is quiet, and Ruth knows he's being careful. "I've not been successful in any of my long-term relationships, but I feel that I'm ready to settle down. I want to settle down ... with you. I know now what my problem has been all along."

"And what was it?"

He glances at her quickly before again watching the road ahead. "I always thought there was something better just around the corner. There wasn't. Until I met you."

Ruth reaches out and touches his bare forearm with her fingers. "But. There's a but, isn't there?"

Harry nods. "I know we love one another. That's clear, but love won't be enough to make this work ... this thing we have which draws us together. It can destroy us both ... if we don't nurture it, and respect it."

"What are you saying, Harry? It's about yesterday, isn't it?"

"It's about all the yesterdays. But yes, what happened yesterday illustrated what I'm trying to say. I'm so ... so scared of losing you, Ruth. I'm scared you'll just get up one day and walk away from me, and ... and I won't know how to stop you, and I won't know how to live my life without you."

They are both silent for some time, while Ruth digests his words. When Harry glances at her, he sees she is staring out the passenger side window at another collection of dwellings, residents' cars parked haphazardly on the dusty streets, a group of small boys playing in the dust with a football. He is not normally a praying man, but at this moment he is silently praying.

"I know that when I do that it scares you, Harry."

"So ... why do you still do it? The jealousy, Ruth. I can guarantee you will never have cause to be jealous. I've sown my wild oats - long ago - and I have no desire to be with anyone else. If you don't want this ... if you don't want me ... then tell me now. If we can't be together, I'm prepared to be alone for the rest of my life."

"I don't want you to be alone. I ... don't want to be alone, and I want you." Ruth waits before she continues, and Harry also waits. "I think I do that - the jealousy, the walking off - because I've always done that. When I feel uncomfortable, I walk away."

"When did it happen the first time?"

"The first time? I suppose it was when I turned down your second invitation to dinner. My real fear was how much I felt for you, and you were my boss."

"I suspect the first time was long before that, Ruth. I know your mother sent you away to boarding school after your father died. As I see it, _that_ was the first time you ran, even though it wasn't your idea for you to leave home."

"How did you know that?" Ruth's eyes are on him, and she is glaring at him.

"You told me. Ages ago. It was during one of our late nights on the Grid, when you brought me a cup of coffee. As I see it, if someone matters to you - matters a lot - and you begin to feel uncomfortable, out of control, your default reaction is to leave ... to run. You have no other way of dealing with it. It's time that stopped, Ruth."

Harry feels the change in her before he hears her sobs. He slows the Toyota, and pulls into a roadside parking bay. Once he turns off the motor, he removes his seat belt, and turns to face Ruth. She is sitting, her head down, her hands wringing in her lap. Harry reaches out, and grasps both her hands between his, and he massages the backs of her hands with his thumbs. Then he waits for her crying to subside. When she is calm, Ruth reaches into her bag at her feet, and takes a few tissues, and wipes her face. When she turns towards Harry, he sees that her mascara has run, and she resembles a very sad clown. That is when he wraps his arms around her, and pulls her against his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Ruth mumbles against his shoulder.

"Never apologise for honesty, Ruth. Your tears tell me you're being honest."

"I've been an idiot," she says, pulling away from him a little.

"Not an idiot, Ruth. You've been running on an old script. We all do that. I did it when Elena was in London last year. I'd always been taken in by her words. She can be very convincing."

"Will you help me, Harry? Will you help me to stop running ... to not flare up when I feel my safety threatened?" Ruth is now looking into Harry's face, but her eyes still convey her sadness.

"You have to ask for help when you need it, Ruth. I don't want to be telling you what to do. I can't stand husbands who do that."

"Husbands?"

"You don't expect me to be satisfied with being your toy boy, do you?"

She leans back, and smiles into his eyes. "I guess not."

"Shall we go?" he says, pulling away from her, and reattaching his seat belt. "We have a lot of planning to be doing."

Ruth nods, as Harry starts the car, and pulls out of the parking bay and on to the highway.

* * *

_**A/N: A brief epilogue to follow, just to tie off loose ends.**_


	13. Epilogue

_**A/N: Thank you all for reading, and for the reviews. They were lovely.**_

* * *

Suffolk coast, UK – 7 months later:

Jill and Nigel Elliott are both relieved when the cottage next door is at last sold. It had been on the market for a long time, and many people had inspected it, but during the harsh winter, it had not looked its best. Jill had been gazing through her upstairs bathroom window (what Nigel called snooping) when the couple had looked at it, and she could see by their faces that they would buy it, and that they would look after the house, treating it with the love it deserved.

James and Ruth Marsden are not your typical couple. He is in his late 50's, and his wife is much younger, and Nigel is sure they are newly married.

"Look at them, hon," he says to his wife. "They hold hands when they walk to the village, and they look right into one another's eyes whenever they talk to one another. How long is it since we did that?"

"Did we ever?" Jill says, in a voice that she knows Nigel won't catch, given his hearing is failing.

Jill has watched as people visit the new neighbours. They have few friends, and their only family are a young man and woman, who are James' children. Ruth has no children of her own, and they have no children together. Yet there is something about them she envies. After much consideration, she believes that it's their ability to be happy with just the other for company. She envies that, although she'd never share that with Nigel, for he'd not understand the concept. She and Nigel are always having someone around for dinner, or afternoon tea. Soon after they moved in, the Marsden couple had accepted an invitation to have afternoon tea, and they were very pleasant company. It was Nigel who commented that although they had spent two hours in the company of their new neighbours, he could honestly say that he still knows nothing about them.

Inside the cottage, Harry and Ruth live, contented and relieved. They are relieved to have the freedom to be able to live in their country of birth, the country where they met and fell in love, and they are content with each other, and their life together. It is a quiet life, and that is in contrast to the life they have each already lived. They do almost everything together, although Ruth is happy when Harry goes off of a Thursday night to play darts, and she has book club once a month of a Monday night. That is enough socialising, for they have spent so much of their lives apart from one another, that further time apart is difficult for them.

There have already shared one sadness. Only a month after they moved into their cottage, Ruth miscarried. She was almost three months pregnant when the foetus had died. For weeks afterwards, she was inconsolable, and Harry had to be strong for her, even though he was deeply stricken by his own grief. They had not planned the pregnancy. It was both a surprise and a shock, but had led them both to desperately wanting the child which was slowly growing inside Ruth's body. The loss of this child had been crushing for them both, but once they had grieved its loss, they talked, and agreed that they would be willing to try again. They know their window of opportunity for conception is very narrow indeed. They have tried to conceive again, and although nothing has happened for them, they have not yet lost hope.

"There's another postcard from Mexico," Harry says, carrying the post into the kitchen, where Ruth is cooking sausages and eggs.

"What does it say?"

"Same as the last two: `Life is good. Wish you were here. Love, Kerry.' What do you think she means?"

"She's just letting us know she's alright. Maybe you should contact her parents, Harry."

"Maybe I will." He places the post on the table, and sidles up behind his wife, sniffing the food over her shoulder. "Mmmm, nice."

"I'm four days late," Ruth says quietly, turning her head so that her husband can hear.

Harry smiles, sliding his arms around her waist so that he can spread his fingers over her abdomen. "Do we celebrate yet?"

"Not yet. I want to wait at least another three days …. just in case."

"Right. Here's hoping." He bends his head to kiss her cheek, and then he pulls away from her, and she turns to glance at him as he crosses the kitchen to the door, and then disappears into the sitting room. She hears the murmur of his mild cursing, as he begins cleaning out the grate from the fire which had warmed them the night before. She knows him well enough to recognise when he is looking for distractions to prevent him worrying about something over which he has no control.

They seldom speak about their time in Peru, and they still don't know for sure about the role Sasha Gavrik may have played in Ruth being taken from the UK after she was stabbed. All that matters is that they are together again, and that – to their knowledge – there are no threats against them. To be on the safe side, George Fairbrother runs a permanent scan on both the remaining Gavriks. So far, neither man has left Russia. That, among other blessings, is something for which they can be thankful.


End file.
